


Zeitnot

by thereshaegoes



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Happy Ending, Illustrated, M/M, Nicaise (Captive Prince) Lives, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Time Loop, Time Travel, there is major character death but dont worry its temporary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereshaegoes/pseuds/thereshaegoes
Summary: "Zeitnot (chess): German for time trouble. Zeitnot occurs when a player needs to play several moves in a very short period of time in order to reach the time control defined for the game."When twenty-three-year-old Laurent wakes up on the morning of the Battle of Marlas in his adolescent body, he has to figure out how to keep Auguste and Damianos alive through the end of the day.
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Laurent & Nicaise (Captive Prince)
Comments: 155
Kudos: 405





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hello! This is the first time I've finished a multi-chaptered fic, I'm very excited!! I've been working with this idea since 2018, but I did a pretty big overhaul of the plot in June and I'm really happy with it :) 
> 
> I'll be posting chapters as I edit & illustrate them, the fic is about 25k in all.

It’s late spring in Delfeur, the heavy scent of blooming flowers wafts through open windows and the sun hangs heavy and golden near the horizon. Laurent has no time to appreciate the pleasant evening, however. It’s been two years since his ascension, and it feels like he keeps needing to address the same issues he did when he first took control of Vere. This week had been an important but exhausting summit and tomorrow he has an important meeting with a group of representatives from the Veretian pet system to monitor the repercussions of his recent reforms.

Laurent’s fingers skim over papers, trying to locate the proper reports and mentally preparing the summaries of the reports that he wants to write out before he retires for the night. With the final report found he settles into a chair and begins to skim over them.

On the third report, a distinct scraping fills the room as the door to Laurent’s study is opened. Only two people will open this door without at least knocking, and one is sitting and reading reports, so Laurent doesn’t bother to look up from the financial woes of the ousted men who sold underage pets.

Laurent is vindicated in his assumption when a warm hand settles over his own, interlacing their fingers. Laurent acquiesces and switches the report to his other hand to continue his reading. This acquiescence also acts as an acknowledgement that Laurent knows that Damen is about to try and convince him to stop working. These past years Damen has often urged Laurent to balance his own personal life with his life as a king. Unfortunately for Laurent’s desire to oversee all aspects of these reforms, he knows that Damen will have a strong argument.

“You’ve read these reports twice over.” Echoes of this conversation have happened enough times that no preamble is necessary.

“I still need to summarize them for tomorrow.”

“So summarize them to their faces tomorrow, there’s no need to write down what will be most likely thrown away in twenty hours.” At this, Damen untangles their fingers and reaches to begin kneading Laurent’s shoulders.

Laurent is silent for a moment as he weighs his likelihood of winning this argument if he continues. Laurent is the type to argue purely for the enjoyment of debate, but this discourse is rote by now and Damen’s hands are convincing.

Sure enough, Damen digs his thumb into a knot that had particularly been bothering Laurent, and Laurent, confident in the knowledge that an oral summary will be more than adequate for the meeting, puts down the reports and allows himself to be lead to their bedchamber.

Damen helps Laurent to remove his stiff jacket, his fingers precise and efficient with practice, and they find themselves resting together on a lounging seat on their balcony.

The clouds along the horizon are aflame in pinks and golds with the setting sun as Laurent lets his head softly lean on to Damen’s shoulder. Laurent allows himself to breathe as he melts into Damen’s side. His mind untethered from menial and administrative tasks, Laurent meanders through the memories that Marlas always brings up for him.

Laurent looks up to find Damen already studying him, a warm expression on his face. As their eyes meet, Laurent blinks and turns back to face the horizon, the last light of the sun causing his eyelashes to glow. 

“What is your deepest regret?” Laurent’s voice is heavy with reminiscence.

Damen seems to wait for him to elaborate and when it becomes apparent that further discussion is not forthcoming, Damen sits and gives the question the consideration it deserves. 

As he contemplates, Laurent laces their fingers together.

“Marlas. The first time.” Damen pauses and looks down at their hands. “While I do not regret ending the war, I regret how I hurt you, the relationship I took from you and your brother.”

Still holding Damen’s hand, Laurent tips his head back and notices the first star has become visible in the dusk sky. 

Laurent lets more of his weight fall on Damen’s shoulder. He speaks carefully, “I've come to understand that Auguste’s death was honourable and that it prevented more brothers from being unable to return home. Thinking like a military leader rather than a little brother is the only way to reconcile-” 

“He was still your brother, Laurent. You do not have to ignore that.”

Sharply, “I have not.” 

“I still miss Kastor.”

Despite the gravity of the topic, Laurent is confident enough in his relationship with Damen and with himself to know that, although a scar has remained, the wound has long been healed. He sits and lets them both sort through their thoughts. This place holds many ghosts for both of them.

They sit there, the silence heavy with memories, until the sun has disappeared and stars litter the sky.

***

There is myth that Akielons pass down, though it predates their country. This myth tells the tale of the youngest daughter of the Sun. She was unnoteworthy aside from her role as one of the Heliades with her sisters for much of her life until she had the misfortune of falling in love. 

The common telling of this myth paints the couple as a doomed, tragic love full of sacrifice and pain. However, over her pregnant stomach Egeria would talk to her unborn son; she spun a tale of true love between the Sun and Fate that is written in the stars.

Dioxippe, the youngest Heliade and daughter of the Sun god, would run through the central forests of Artes, frivolous and carefree. It was there that she caught the eye of Ananke, the goddess of Time and the mother of Fate. 

Ananke would disguise herself as a nymph in Dioxippe’s favoured forest and soon the two were inseparable and hopelessly in love. This caused Ananke to forgo her duties and the world outside fell into a timeless stupor. 

Only once a hundred years had passed did Dioxippe notice and confront Ananke. In tears, Ananke confessed her deception and begged for her love’s forgiveness. She promised anything. 

Dioxippe agreed to forgive Ananke if she would undo time to save her brother who had died attempting to pull the sun across the sky. 

Knowing this went against the laws of the Heavens, Ananke chose her love’s forgiveness and resigned herself to the imminent punishment.

As she used her spindle to reverse Time, she brought Dioxippe with her and together they saved her beloved brother from Fate. There was a moment of joy before the king of the gods came down and told Ananke that she would be exiled to the stars for her transgression. 

Unwilling to watch her go, Dioxippe refused to let go of Ananke’s hand and the couple was sent to the stars together.

It is said that their stars are the first you see at spring dusk, overlooking those in love. And if they deem the love True, they are known to make adjustments to Time and Fate.


	2. Chapter 1: Damianos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not planning on updating this fast for any of the other chapters but I feel like chapter 1 is much more representative of the fic as a whole and it's ready to go so why not?

Laurent wakes up with the sun in his eyes. He blinks, his movements languidly slowed by sleep.

Something is wrong.

Laurent’s eyes dart around the room he has woken up in. The room is unfamiliar, there are thick, intricately embroidered velvet curtains pushed toward the posts of the bed. The room boasts filigreed accents and plush rugs. They certainly appear to be up to Veretian standard for hosting a member of royalty but Laurent cares less for formality and more for an explanation of why he’s woken up in an unfamiliar bedroom without his husband.

There’s a candle on his bedside that wasn’t put out the evening prior and the wax has dripped and pooled around the base of the now very short candle. Laurent looks down at his lap where an open book lays on rumpled blankets, strewn as if Laurent had fallen asleep the night before in the middle of a passage. As Laurent’s head turns to take in the unfamiliar room, he feels the uncomfortable pull of a collar, tied up his neck. Laurent pulls thoughtlessly at the collar as he swings his legs off the side of his bed.

Laurent almost stumbles as he stands. Either this new room is very large, or Laurent has somehow gotten shorter overnight.

Chest tight with concerned confusion, Laurent rushes to the washbasin in the corner and stares at the face reflected in the mirror.

The face the Laurent sees is the first thing that he’s concretely recognized this morning, but it is also the most disconcerting thing in a long list of disconcerting things that Laurent has seen in the last two minutes.

Laurent appears to be a child.

He raises his had to his face and pushes into his cheek just to watch the reflection do the same. His cheeks are pink and round with youth and his eyes are wide with disbelief. As Laurent prods his cheeks, he feels a soreness and frowns, he has pimples again. He had thought he’d outgrown them. Unfortunate.

If Laurent had to guess, which it seems he does, he thinks he is only a year or two from properly hitting puberty, he must be twelve or thirteen years old.

Laurent looks down and notes that his hands are small and soft, lacking the calluses Laurent had developed through years of sword training. Laurent clenches his hands watching his nails dig crescents in the soft flesh of his palm.

He’s not going to learn anything about his current predicament by studying his own body; Laurent turns with purpose, determined to orient himself and solve whatever cosmic mystery has left him looking like a child. There is a churning in Laurent’s gut, he hasn’t been this helpless in years.

First, Laurent goes to check the time. The mechanical clock indicates that it’s early morning which explains the lack of servants and gives Laurent more time to orient himself before people start to expect him to know what’s going on. Laurent notes that it’s not a water clock like is commonly used in Akielos, he’s most likely somewhere in Vere.

Next, Laurent quickly dresses himself, the clothing in his wardrobe is to his younger tastes, intricate and beautiful but loose in the right spots to allow ease of movement. The clothing is also mostly in light blues and creams, much less severe than the clothing Laurent wore in more recent years. Laurent reaches back to tie the laces at the nape of his neck and frown as his hair tangles with the laces. His hair reaches past his shoulders like it hasn’t since he cut it at fifteen. Frustrated, Laurent finds a ribbon lying on the chest of drawers and quickly ties his hair out of the way and finishes getting ready.

Before he leaves, Laurent searches the room for a weapon; disappointingly but not surprisingly, he finds none. Several books but not a single knife. He’ll have to begin his search for answers unarmed.

Laurent find his first answer as he steps out into the hallway. The hallway looks different than he remembers, acanthus leaves and whiplash curves are gilded on the walls and tapestries hang heavily. The Veretian gilt doesn’t camouflage the layout though and Laurent recognizes the hallway in the Marlas fort that leads to the Kings’ and the Kyroi’s chambers.

Oriented, Laurent decides to make his way to the dining hall, he is hungry and hopes to come across someone who can illuminate for Laurent why he’s a child in a Veretian Marlas. Laurent has only ever been a child in Marlas once before in his life but if he’s somehow in that point of time and space again, that would mean that Auguste is alive.

His steps hasten with urgency as he approaches the dining hall.

Auguste is alive.

Is Auguste alive?

Heart in his throat, Laurent pushes open the doors and stops.

Ah.

If Auguste is alive, so is their uncle.

Laurent’s uncle sits at the head of the table next to Dubois, an influential political representative from northern Vere. “Laurent, would you like to join us for breakfast?”

Even if he wanted to join them, Laurent’s stomach has tied itself in knots and Laurent can hardly imagine being hungry.

“No. No thank you; I was looking for someone.” The words taste like ash in Laurent’s mouth as he turns and leaves as quickly as he can without tripping.

Laurent’s mind races, he has to find Auguste, he has to get away from his uncle, he has to find out why he’s back here now. All these things feel so big, they feel like they’ll crush him with their importance.

There was a courtyard near the barracks in Marlas that Nikandros would use as a training arena, it seems like a likely place that Laurent can find a soldier or maybe a member of the prince’s guard in. He makes his way hastily to the western wing of the fort.

As Laurent comes upon the doorway to the courtyard, he hears a milieu of familiar sounds: the screech of sharpening blades, horses being prepared, commanders shouting at their subordinates. The best of the Veretian army are preparing for battle. And in the centre of the commotion, speaking to a general with his armour half on, is Auguste.

Laurent’s knees feel weak and he suddenly feels both hollowed out and like every emotion is tearing its way to get out of his body. His breaths come heavy and short and he feels wholly unprepared to go out and talk to his brother. Like talking to Auguste is simple, something only requiring a few actions and not overwrought with a decade of grief. Nothing has ever seemed so terribly and wonderfully complicated.

Laurent quickly ducks into a shadowed alcove as he feels his eyes begin to itch with unshed tears.

Laurent thinks of being fitted by a tailor, the feeling of a pin being pierced so close to your skin but not quite, the tense anticipation of a pain that refuses to come. His whole body feels like that right now, his muscles are taught and his adrenalin rushes.

“Your Highness!” Laurent’s head snaps up, he has not been a _Your Highness_ for years now, but the familiar voice interrupts his panic and Jord jogs over, concern on his face. 

He looks so young. He has the advantage of being an adult both now and in Laurent’s adulthood, but his face is softer, and his facial hair is completely shaven. Laurent stares mutely. Laurent had spoken to Jord two nights ago after a long day at the summit. Now he’s looking at Laurent like a man at a boy.

“I know you’re worried about Auguste fighting but he’ll be alright,” Jord smiles reassuringly at a Laurent who has just found one more thing to be worried about, he had forgotten about the imminent battle somehow. “I know the king told you not to bother your brother but I’m sure neither of us will tell him if you want to go say goodbye before he leaves.”

Laurent does not speak and Jord seems to take this as an agreement as he rests his hand on Laurent’s shoulder and guides him towards the arena.

Had Jord ever been this casual with Laurent in recent memory? Is it his age or his distance from the throne that’s caused Jord to feel comfortable manhandling Laurent?

As the pair make their way over to Auguste, Laurent wonders if this is some cosmic punishment for falling in love with his brother’s killer. Perhaps it is a hallucination onset by too much paperwork and bureaucracy. Perhaps Laurent simply dreamed the last ten years.

Auguste turns and when he sees them, he smiles. Laurent is reminded of the sun that had woken him that morning. Auguste is blinding. Laurent smiles back.

Laurent soon finds himself transferred from Jord to Auguste as Auguste swings his arm around Laurent’s shoulders and pulls him close to introduce him to the general he had been speaking with.

“This is my little brother, Laurent, he’s the one who’s been trying to sneak his way into strategy meetings for weeks, he’d take your place if he could, general.” Auguste’s voice is younger than Laurent remembers it.

Laurent is clapped fraternally on the shoulder by Auguste as Laurent and the general greet each other.

Seeing that their salutations are over, Auguste removes his arm and allows a squire to fit him with his breastplate.

Auguste turns his head towards the general, “Are you ready to go and beat the barbarians out of Delfeur?”

Laurent’s shoulders feel cold where Auguste’s arm had been.

“Ha! With all that skin on display? It makes the view pleasant and the killing easier!” The general grins and Auguste guffaws.

Laurent frowns. He’d heard worse of course, he’d been working against anti-Akielon Veretian nationalism for years, but never from someone he respects so dearly. He recognizes them as the thoughts of a man in the midst of a war but the casual zealotry lands cold in Laurent’s stomach.

“When will you leave?” Laurent’s own voice feels thin and reedy in his throat.

“We plan to ride out in an hour’s time, we’ll be ready for battle around mid-morning after the ambush on the camp.” Auguste says as he examines his sword before his sheathes it.

Laurent remembers the ambush their uncle had planned on the Akielons, taking advantage of their sense of honour and trust in their opponents to feel the same. Before he can stop his mouth, he asks, “is the ambush not dishonourable?” The words tumble out of him before he can remember that he shouldn’t be questioning the crown prince’s battle plans.

Auguste looks undisturbed and shrugs a shoulder. “It’s not dishonourable, it’s Veretian.” Auguste looks at Laurent. “Besides, the Akielons attacked after mother died. Is it not honourable to allow a country time to grieve its queen?”

Laurent finds himself in the difficult position of agreeing with only some of Auguste’s ideas. While Laurent is no stranger to a negotiation of opinions, he does not like disagreeing with neither his brother nor someone who thinks Laurent a precocious teenager, both of which Auguste happens to be.

Auguste must notice Laurent’s attention drift and his mood sour somewhat and he reaches over to ruffle Laurent’s hair. As his hair is tied back, this makes much more of a mess for Laurent to fix. “Don’t worry, Laurent. I’ll be back tonight, Delfeur intact.”

“Besides, you have no reason to worry,” a nearby member of the prince’s guard adds good naturedly, “your brother is the best fighter in all of Vere!”

“Yes, but he’s not fighting Veretians is he?” Laurent’s tone is acerbic.

“Aw, you wound me.” Auguste grins with good humour.

Laurent is surprised by Auguste’s cavalier attitude and wonders if it is for his sake or if Auguste really thinks himself invincible. “It does not do to underestimate your opponent in a fight, let alone in a war.”

Auguste’s grin sobers as he appears somewhat mollified. “When did you get so wise? I’ll keep your counsel in mind. Now you should go see uncle, he’s meant to watch you today, he volunteered to stay back and protect you.”

Laurent nods at the dismissal but finds his eyes wanting to stay trained on Auguste even as Jord takes him by the shoulder again to lead him out of the courtyard.

***

Laurent most certainly does not go to find his uncle. He slips away from Jord at the first possible opportunity and makes his way to the kitchens to get something to eat. Laurent has very little time to figure out how to save his brother from his husband. Time travel or hallucination, this is all both very confusing and very harrowing for Laurent.

Food in hand, Laurent decides he doesn’t have the luxury of a well-developed scheme and will have to stop them himself, possibly bodily. He returns to his chambers and redresses in clothing more appropriate for battle. Unfortunately, Laurent did not value many physical activities in his childhood and the best he can find is his riding gear.

In the commotion of the army preparing to leave, Laurent is able to slip into the armoury and grab a sword. He frowns when he realizes that even the smallest is slightly too large for Laurent’s young frame. Nevertheless, he’s made do with worse and scavenges for leftover armour that could fit. He finds enough armour that his own death isn’t assured but it is not of a quality that his survival is a surety either. It will have to do. 

By the time Laurent has collected the tack and prepared his horse himself, the army is less than a half hour’s ride ahead of him. Laurent rides out of the keep with haste.

Given the time to think, Laurent’s mind turns inward. By some divine providence, Laurent has been given the opportunity to save his brother, quite likely at the cost of his relationship with his husband. At least, Laurent thinks, he wasn’t given that choice to make himself, he isn’t sure he could forgive himself for choosing either. Certainly, an outcome where both men live is favourable, regardless of their personal relationships with Laurent. But that doesn’t stop Laurent’s heart from aching at the thought of a Damen who doesn’t remember him, a Damen who doesn’t remember _them._

Laurent crests a hill and sees that the battle has begun without him. Thoughts of Damen pushed aside, Laurent shifts his seat in his saddle and unsheathes his sword before galloping down towards the fighting, mind only on reaching Auguste in time.

As Laurent reaches the fray, he fights not to win or to injure but to advance. He disarms and disengages as quickly as he engages, quickly slipping through the mass of soldiers. Despite his skill in sword fighting and horse riding, Laurent’s young body is unaccustomed to the actions that Laurent’s mind wants it to take. This slows Laurent down and also gives him a remarkable cut on his flank that, while not fatal, is certainly a reminder to Laurent of his own mortality.

Slowly but surely, Laurent fights his way to the front of the lines. Still too far away, Laurent sees one of the starburst standards fall and quickens his pace, no longer caring for what country his opponent is fighting for. Considering Laurent had to fight through an army in a prepubescent body, he makes it to his brother swiftly, but it still feels like too long when Laurent finally finds the ring where the prince’s guard have stepped back to allow Auguste and Damianos to fight each other. Laurent dismounts and elbows his way into the circle, too short to see over any shoulders.

In the circle, Auguste and Damianos have already been fighting for some time. Auguste is alive and Damianos’s shoulder is unmarred, Laurent has made it in time.

Laurent takes a breath to just watch. Nineteen-year-old Damianos is undeniably a prodigious warrior and he and Auguste seem evenly matched. But Laurent has the advantage of knowing how Damianos’ skill improves over the next decade, both due to the studiousness with which Damen practices and the breadth of styles from which he learns. This Damianos fights like a man who has only ever fought Akielons, he uses brute strength and force to will his opponent into submission, uncaring of any trickery or fancifulness.

It is during an exchange where Damianos’ most brutal attack is met with fervour by Auguste’s most skilled defense and counterattack where it happens. Damianos’ blade slides off Auguste’s and as the momentum slows his reaction, Auguste is able to get his sword within Damianos’ guard.

Laurent remembers staring at the scar that marked Damen’s shoulder, it was deep, and Laurent had felt a great many things about it. He’d felt vindication it had cut so deep, relief it hadn’t cut deeper, guilt at the reminder of his brother and of his husband’s relationship to his brother.

Laurent sees Auguste’s blade swing towards Damianos’ unguarded shoulder.

“Damen!”

The call feels like it’s been pulled out of his throat, as obligatory as breathing.

Perhaps it was someone using his small name. Perhaps it was that the voice was young and carried a Veretian accent. Regardless of the reason, Laurent’s call causes Damianos to falter in his recovery.

Auguste’s blade reaches higher than its target and sinks into Damianos’s unguarded neck.

Laurent stares, unblinkingly, as Damianos’ body slumps lifelessly to the grass, blood staining the ground a dark red.

Laurent can’t breathe.

His knees cease to function and Laurent crumples, ashen faced, still staring at Damianos.

Laurent can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He thinks Auguste might be calling his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!! (and also if the sketches are showing up for you? I've tried THREE hosting sites to get the right embedding link and I think I've got it now? But I don't trust it anymore lol)


	3. Chapter 2: Laurent

Laurent wakes to the sun in his eyes and his heart heavy.

Affronted by the sun’s imposition on his grief, Laurent rolls onto his side and stares, unfocused, at the candle burning low on his bedside.

The candle that he’s quite sure he didn’t light last night.

Mistaking his grief for his husband as shock from his first battle and grief over their father who had been killed almost simultaneously, Auguste had brought an unresponsive Laurent back to Marlas last night. Laurent had refused to leave Auguste but frustratingly for Auguste, also refused to speak with him. Auguste had finally carried an almost asleep Laurent to bed late into the night and Laurent had lay there until sleep overtook him, unable to will the strength to even light a candle.

A candle that was now burning.

Most likely a servant had lit it in the night.

Not reassured by the explanation, Laurent reaches for his side where he had been cut in the battle, unsettling a book in the process. He feels no pain at his prodding and quickly rucks up his nightdress and bends awkwardly to stare at his unblemished flank. Laurent stares, breathing heavily.

He needs to confirm his guess.

Barely bothering to dress past a pair of pants, an undershirt and boots, Laurent runs from his rooms, hair streaming behind him.

Laurent runs straight to the courtyard, uncaring for propriety. When he reaches the large doors that lead into the yard, he stops clumsily, chest heaving with the exertion.

The soldiers are preparing for battle, not for a treaty with a defeated country.

Laurent sees Auguste to the side, examining his sword’s blade.

Laurent has woken on the morning of the battle of Marlas. Again.

He has to watch his brother, or his husband, be killed. Again.

Suddenly Laurent feels a great weariness; this must be some sort of cosmic punishment. Perhaps he has died, and this is his eternal torture.

But no, Auguste lived yesterday. Laurent changed the outcome.

There must be some way to save both of them.

Laurent will have to stop the fight before it happens; if he gets there sooner, perhaps.

Laurent sees Auguste begin to put his armour on and knows he is running low on time to plan. He’s too small to impersonate a member of the prince’s guard and the pages are already all accounted for. Laurent looks around for the standard-bearers, maybe one of them is particularly juvenile. Instead, Laurent sees Jord coming towards him and Laurent knows he has run out of time. He thinks of what Damen would do.

“Jord! Come speak to my brother with me.” Laurent turns and makes his way into the courtyard, knowing Jord will follow. Sure enough, Laurent can hear as Jord much less gracefully makes his way through the crowd of soldiers.

Auguste has not begun speaking to the general yet and is finishing up a conversation with the page tightening his greaves, and laughing at a ribald anecdote. Laurent waits for the page to leave and steps up.

“Auguste. I’ll be joining you and your guard to the front lines today, who should I have see to acquiring a weapon?” Laurent says this with all the confidence his young voice can carry and is unsurprised at the reaction he garners.

Auguste drops his glove and stares at Laurent. A nearby soldier struggles to hide a laugh. Laurent decides he does not like that soldier.

“What are you thinking, Laurent? You’re thirteen, not invincible. Don’t jest.” Auguste is at least taking him seriously, that’s a point in Laurent’s favour.

“I’ve been training in secret, with Jord.” At this, Jord, who has not been secretly training with Laurent, steps back, looking wildly between the two princes. Laurent doesn’t let him contradict his lie. “Jord, go fetch me a sword, the lightest in the armoury.” Jord, not wanting to lie to one prince, nor expose another prince for lying, flees to the armoury.

“I’m sure you’re very talented and have been practicing very hard but this is a battle, Laurent, not a sparring match.” The condescension is both understandable and distinctly unappreciated.

“If I can disarm you, you’ll let me join you.”

Auguste looks up to the sky to judge the time and reaches the same conclusion as Laurent: he doesn’t have time to argue with Laurent.

“Fine, but I’m not going to let you win, this isn’t a horse race.”

Laurent nods, ignoring the jab, and looks to where Jord is returning from the armoury, sword in hand. At this, the soldiers surrounding them back up, allowing the brothers room to fight. 

Laurent receives the sword from Jord and weighs it in his hands; it’s not perfect but it’ll do.

Not waiting for a starting mark, Laurent immediately goes on the offence, aiming for Auguste’s pommel.

Laurent is glad he had the chance to fight in this body the day before, it’s disconcerting to fight in a different sized body with different muscle memories and muscle mass. Laurent had watched Auguste fight in the battle yesterday and now as he parries, Laurent is vindicated in his hope that, technically, Laurent is a better swordsman. Laurent has fought with a wider range of swordmasters and trained regularly with the only man known to best Auguste in battle. At twenty-three, Laurent even has the same amount of time to have trained as Auguste.

Laurent wishes he just had a body that would let him win this fight without trickery because he’s sure he could. Nonetheless, less than a minute into their fight, Laurent can tell Auguste is reacting slowly due to surprise at Laurent’s competency and Laurent doesn’t want to give him the time to shore up his defense. Laurent quickly slips within his guard and, with a move he learned from a particularly petite daughter of the Vaskian Empire, he slides his blade up and out in a manoeuvre that sends Auguste’s sword flying.

Laurent stands, looking up at his brother. “Let me accompany you.”

Auguste, face morphing from shock to acceptance, breathes a sigh and pulls his hand over his face. “Fine.”

Laurent sheathes his sword.

“We leave in less than hour, have Fabron prepare your horse.”

***

Laurent rides out next to his brother. His addition is too last minute for him to be afforded the same ceremony as Auguste but that suites Laurent just fine, he doesn’t need standards or heralds to achieve his goal.

Laurent thinks he might have gotten lucky with this plan, his ploy took place too close to the battle for Auguste to remember or for his father to notice that both his heirs are heading to the frontlines of a battle. Soon Laurent is brought back from his thoughts as a horn accompanies the sounds of the start of the fighting. Soldiers yell and blades clash as the hiss of arrows cue Laurent and Auguste to pull down their helmets and ride forward, advancing through the lines. 

Jord pulls up close to Laurent’s left side as they grow nearer to the fighting. Both unsheathe their swords and soon the fight overtakes them.

Laurent is no stranger to warfare and is able to hold his own for the eternity it takes before a fresh squadron of Akielons appear, their crown prince in the lead. Laurent makes quick work of his opponent and backs up with the rest of the prince’s guard, allowing the two heirs room to fight.

Laurent was able to get himself to the fight but finds himself unable to stop it like he wanted, the Veretian Prince’s Guard would be just as likely to let him get in-between Auguste and Damianos as the Akielons would be. Laurent watches, helpless as their blades clash.

Laurent begins to dismount, hoping that with his slight frame he’ll be able to slip through to Auguste and Damianos. Just as Laurent decides to commit to this plan, he feels a shift to his right and turns to see an Akielon rush through the lines, headed for him.

Laurent barely has time to unsheathe his sword and block her strike. His seat is unsteady—he’d been about to swing his leg over his saddle to dismount—and he falters under her attack. The soldier is unrelenting in her sword work. She fights without finesse, but she never warries, forcing Laurent to constantly be on the defense, blocking and parrying.

Laurent has just avoided another flurry of blows when he hears a clatter to his left and turns to see that Auguste has disarmed Damianos.

This distraction is enough for his opponent and she lunges forward. Laurent raises his sword in defense but isn’t quick enough to stop her.

The Akielon sword pierces Laurent’s neck.

Laurent is dead before he hits the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Pls ignore that Laurent's wearing different clothing in the sketch than in the fic, I drew this last week before editing and so I hadn't actually read the chapter in over two months lol) 
> 
> Also, I just had a frustrating conversation with someone about unsolicited criticism and apparently this needs saying? I don't want con crit on this, just a heads up. Unless I did/wrote something offensive and/or hurtful, this is a hobby and while I'm trying to post the best version of this fic I can, I'm not looking for con crit.


	4. Chapter 3: Auguste

Laurent wakes up with the sun in his eyes and his heart rushing.

He bolts up, hand scrambling to his neck where he finds it unblemished. Adrenaline leaves his body in a wave and Laurent feels a weariness settle over his body as he breathes out a sigh and slumps back into the pillows.

Laurent allows himself time to think, he’d felt so rushed the past two days, he needs time to pick apart this situation.

The last night he remembers being an adult, the only remarkable thing that happened was his conversation with Damen about their brothers. Both had expressed that they missed their brothers. Surely that has to be connected, the coincidence is too pointed.

But Laurent had saved Auguste.

And he’d still woken up the same morning.

Laurent must have to save all of them. His initial plan had been instinctual—and Laurent often prefers to rely on logic over instincts—but nothing else makes sense. He’ll have to adjust how he goes about it, but his goal remains the same.

He could warn the Akielons of the surprise attack; if he left immediately and rode hard, he could make it in time. But he’d be labelled a traitor to the crown. Could you behead a thirteen-year-old for treason? Laurent frowns. He has ample evidence that certain members of the royal family would happily behead a thirteen-year-old for much less. He doesn’t know if he would receive amnesty from the Akielons either, they wouldn’t appreciate a traitor, even one trying to help them.

Laurent thinks about how his attempt yesterday had gone. He had gotten so close to actually stopping them, if only he hadn’t been forced into fighting the Akielon soldier. Laurent remembers another time he had fought an Akielon soldier nearly to the death and of the flung sword that had saved him.

Laurent may have to ask for help.

Accepting that some help may be necessary, Laurent mulls over who he could ask for help. Auguste is his first thought; Laurent had often wished Auguste would rush in during his youth and save him from all his troubles. But pragmatism overtakes Laurent’s fanciful wishes; Auguste has barely had time to talk to Laurent these past two mornings. It would be near impossible to get him alone, let alone convince him of this predicament. Not that Laurent has to share the confounding temporal loop he finds himself in, all he has to do is… convince a prince not to win a battle. Laurent honestly isn’t sure which Auguste would be more receptive to.

There are other men that Laurent knows from his youth. Many of the members of Auguste’s prince’s guard were loyal enough to Auguste that they remained aligned with Laurent after the war. Laurent has recognized Rochert, Orlant, and Jord so far. But Laurent remembers his teen years. They had aligned with him out of a sense of duty to Auguste, it took years of dedication and proving himself for his men to become loyal to more than the crown.

Laurent doesn’t have years.

Laurent hasn’t missed Damen quite so hard during this whole ordeal until now. His unfailing loyalty and trust in Laurent were also hard-earned but had little to do with his lineage. Laurent yearns for that familiar comfort.

Laurent thinks of the man he met when he was twenty and of the warrior prince he’s seen fighting these past two days and concludes, not easily, that this Damianos would be even less receptive to Laurent’s non-violent proposal than Auguste. Not to mention the accusations of treason and collusion that would ensue.

Laurent reassesses his options and, frustratingly, he can’t think of any other options, one of these men must be able to at least protect Laurent until he can save Auguste and Damianos. Laurent thinks about the way Jord had ridden out beside him the day before. Even if he’s not loyal to Laurent yet, Laurent will have to trust his loyalty to the crown. Orlant and Rochert had been harder to win over and Jord already seems friendly with him, judging by their recent conversations.

Laurent swings his legs over the side of his bed and begins to prepare for his day, plan now in mind.

***

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t speak downstairs, Your Highness.”

Jord had followed Laurent well enough but it appears he isn’t done making his reservations known. Laurent refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Because I’m your prince and I asked it of you.” Laurent despairs for his voice; with this thin, high voice, Laurent has found that it’s quite difficult to sound commanding.

At the very least, Jord recognizes that Laurent is serious and sits up straighter.

“You can’t share what I’m about to tell you with anyone.” Laurent begins to pace in front of where he’s sat Jord on a couch in Laurent’s chambers.

“Alright.” Jord seems to think he’s humouring Laurent.

“Jord, I’m asking you as your prince, not as the funny thirteen-year-old boy that you help steal books from the library.”

Mollified, Jord nods. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“I have,” Laurent purses his lips, “come across some vital information regarding the battle of Marlas.”

“You should—”

Laurent cuts Jord off, “You won’t interrupt me until I’m finished.”

Jord’s concern remains clear in his eyes but he acquiesces.

“If I do not intervene today, Prince Damianos of Akielos will fight my brother and Auguste will lose both his life and the war.” Laurent sees the shock on Jord’s face and lets his statement hang. “Obviously, I plan to intervene.”

Jord, eyebrows furrowed, nods, whether in agreement or for Laurent to continue, it’s unclear.

“This is where I’ll need your help. I have a way to accompany Auguste to the battle, but it is, unfortunately, still a battle, and I can’t focus on saving Auguste’s life and defending my own.” Laurent doesn’t mention his goal of saving Damianos as well, he doubts Jord will be particularly receptive to helping any Akielons. “I need you to guard me while I stop the princes’ fight.”

Laurent can still see the hesitance on Jord’s face.

“I’m not asking you to believe me wholeheartedly, I understand that this sort of knowledge seems impossible. I’m asking you to trust me as your prince and as Auguste’s little brother, that I have his best interests at heart.”

Jord looks contemplative and opens his mouth only to shut it again.

Oh, right. “I’m done now.”

“You’re right, what you’ve said is difficult to believe.” Jord rubs his face with his left hand. “But I know how much you love your brother and that, even if I say no, you’ll still go after him. I wouldn’t be a very good royal guard if I let you ride into your first battle without someone watching your back. I’m in.” Jord smiles crookedly up at where Laurent has ceased his pacing to stare at Jord.

Laurent had needed to be confident in his plan and in himself, but it isn’t until this moment that he realizes how alone he had felt. Throat uncomfortably tight, Laurent nods. He coughs softly, allowing himself a moment to regain his composure. 

“Good.” Laurent claps his hands together. “Now, come with me, we don’t have much time and I have a sword fight to win.”

***

Laurent had caught Auguste slightly later than previously; his armour was almost completely on and he had finished his conversation with the battle hungry general. Nevertheless, Laurent was able to win their duel even quicker this time, armed with the knowledge of what moves Auguste was most likely to use against him. Auguste at least seemed comforted by Laurent’s suggestion that Jord serve as his personal guard on the battlefield.

As they sheathe their swords and Auguste calls to arrange for suitable armour for Laurent, Laurent feels a shift in the crowd behind him. He turns and feels any satisfaction at his plan coming together drain out of him, leaving a cold weightlessness behind.

Laurent and Auguste’s uncle is only a few steps behind him, smiling congenially at the brothers. “I came to see off my nephew, but it appears I’m seeing both of you off. How…” here his voice turns saccharine, “brave of you, Laurent.”

Laurent stays silent and Auguste picks up the conversation, thanking their uncle and wishing him well.

As soon as their uncle has left the courtyard, Laurent turns to Auguste. “Why is he staying in the keep? I thought he offered to stay back to protect me.” Laurent finds it difficult to keep his tone from becoming accusatory.

Auguste waves a hand, unconcerned. “We need to keep our strategist safe, besides, we can’t expect everyone to be overcome with a sudden burst of battle thirst.” Auguste looks pointedly at Laurent who decides that that is the end of their conversation and turns, beckoning Jord to follow as he leaves.

***

Astride his horse with his brother on one side and Jord on the other, Laurent rides, once again, out to the fields of Marlas.

Noticing that Auguste’s focus is elsewhere, Jord pulls in closer to Laurent. “I haven’t been secretly teaching you how to sword fight, are you sure you didn’t mix me up with another guard?”

“Don’t insult yourself, Jord. You aren’t all indistinguishable cannon fodder.” It occurs to Laurent after he speaks that it is more likely that Jord insulted Laurent’s memory and intelligence, but he magnanimously chooses to ignore that.

Jord doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke and continues to look concerned.

Laurent sighs. “I learned sword fighting from the same place I learned of Auguste’s fate.”

That doesn’t seem to satisfy Jord, but he understands that Laurent isn’t going to share any more regarding his sudden acquisition of knowledge. He had pestered Laurent about it on their way from Laurent’s chambers to the courtyard and Laurent had only given non-answers, neatly sidestepping Jord’s probing.

Jord’s next question is cut off by the horn that announces that the fighting has begun.

Their party dons their helmets and rides into the melee.

True to their agreement, Jord stays close to Laurent and helps to deflect the worst of the attacks. It still feels like an eternity before the Akielon squadron accompanying Damianos appears. Laurent’s shoulders and thighs ache.

As the soldiers all back up to allow Auguste and Damianos room to fight each other, Laurent signals to Jord and they both dismount. Laurent can hear Jord’s laboured breathing as he sticks close to Laurent’s back. His vigilance is what saves both himself and Laurent. When the Akielon soldier rushes towards Laurent, Jord’s blade is the one that matches hers.

“Go to him!” Jord’s call is spat between gritted teeth as he tries to hold off the Akielon.

Wasting no time, Laurent ducks past the final soldiers between him and the clearing around Auguste and Damianos.

Laurent’s hesitation had been his downfall twice now, he isn’t going to pause and gawk again. He sheathes his sword and runs up to where the two crown princes are fighting.

Laurent watches their swords and during a lull where both men are slowly circling each other, waiting for the other to strike, Laurent dashes in between them.

“Stop!”

Laurent has never seen Damianos look so shocked, which is really rather impressive all things considered. Auguste seems to be vacillating between surprise, anger, and concern. He quickly pulls Laurent behind him.

“This isn’t your fight, why are you here?” Auguste hisses under his breath to Laurent and then, louder, to his opponent, “please, he’s just a boy, let him leave.”

Laurent can’t roll his eyes, he’s on a battlefield trying to end a war, but fuck does he want to. Laurent steps around Auguste, ignoring his brother, and looks up (and up) at Damianos who has settled mostly into confusion at the sight of a juvenile Veretian boy interrupting his fight.

“Please, you need to treat with Vere.” Laurent remembers the first day of these loops, and the first battle of Marlas and hopes his timing isn’t wildly off. “Aleron is dead.” Damianos’ eyes narrow in consideration but not in acceptance and Laurent realizes this isn’t enough to end the fighting. He continues to gamble. “We surrender Delfeur.”

“You’re a child and no one else is announcing the king’s death.” Damianos’ Veretian is more accented than Laurent has ever heard.

“I am a Prince of Vere and—”

“And you’re thirteen, you can’t surrender a province.” Auguste’s hand lands heavily on Laurent’s shoulder.

Laurent attempts to continue but is cut off by a horn and calls that the king has fallen.

When Damianos realizes that what Laurent has said is true he looks at him with a mixture of fear and awe.

Auguste’s hand tightens on Laurent’s shoulder.

Laurent looks up at his brother and Auguste’s expression is thunderous.

“We surrender.”

Laurent watches, almost dream-like, as Auguste and Damianos shake hands.

***

After a retreat has been called, Laurent rides back to the fort alongside his brother. A white flag flies next to the starburst banner. Auguste’s face is stony with grief for their father and for their country. He cradles his helmet in his hands, shoulders weary with the weight of the newly kinged. They’ve been given leave to collect their belongings and retreat by nightfall and every step closer to Marlas seems to drag on Auguste.

His gaze stays steady on the helmet. “How did you know about father?” He says it like it feels dirty on his tongue.

“I was fighting further back than you; I was just able to get to you sooner than the calls.” This answer seems to satisfy Auguste but Laurent notices Jord frown on his other side.

They ride in silence, defeat and sorrow thickening the air.

The silence is broken by a hiss and a thunk. Laurent whips to the side and sees an arrow protruding from Auguste’s neck. There’s a terrible wheezing sound as Auguste tries to breathe.

Auguste slumps over in his saddle.

There’s a commotion around Laurent and Auguste. Calls of Akielon treachery and the announcement that the crown prince has been killed ripple out.

Laurent stares at the arrow and thinks of another pair of brothers. Laurent wonders if Paschal’s brother will be killed by Govart before the day resets.

It’s not long before the prince’s guard realize that the only remaining heir is standing next to where his brother was just killed, and Laurent is rushed away.

There’s a discussion over Laurent’s head of retaliation and the futile nature of fighting a battle without a head of state.

Laurent’s thoughts are singularly focused on his uncle.

He knows what he has to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left such nice comments!! You're all so sweet <3 
> 
> Fun fact: Grammarly changes Orlant to Plant


	5. Chapter 4: The Regent

Laurent wakes to the sun in his eyes and his heart full of determination.

Utilitarianly, Laurent turns and blows out the low-burning candle on his bedside and grabs hold of the book strewn on the sleep-rumpled covers.

Laurent sits back against his pillows and contemplates what he has to do. Seeing Auguste shot down by a stray arrow, the same way Paschal’s brother had killed Aleron, solidified for Laurent that they wouldn’t all survive with Laurent’s uncle still alive. Even Kastor, who Damen had spoken about missing, eventually fell to uncle’s machinations. Perhaps with different influences, his ambition could be sated or turned elsewhere.

It all comes down to uncle.

Laurent’s eyes focus on the book in his hands. It’s open to the story a thirteen-year-old Laurent must have fallen asleep reading ten years ago (last night?). Laurent reads enough of it to see it’s an old Artesian myth about love and time. Laurent huffs what could be a laugh or a sigh, he chooses to take it as a promising sign instead of the universe mocking him. Laurent closes the book with a snap and gets out of bed with purpose. He has a murder to plan and very little time to execute it.

***

Dressed and determined, Laurent heads toward the dining hall where his uncle should be finishing breakfast. He wishes briefly that he had access to poison, it would make this all so much simpler. But, Laurent allows, not only does he not have immediate access to any, he knows Akielos would be blamed. The political repercussions wouldn’t outweigh the convenience now. It really is a pity though.

Laurent thinks about the image of Auguste slumped over, an arrow protruding from his neck. He thinks of Paschal reading his brother’s letter in Ios.

The doors to the dining hall are partially open and Laurent pushes in. Laurent seems to have caught his uncle and the politician Dubois at the tail end of their meal, their dishes are almost empty and they’re talking more than they’re eating. They look up at Laurent as he sits down and reaches for an apple.

“Hello Laurent, would you like to join us for breakfast?” Uncle gestures at the food.

“No thank you, this is fine.” Laurent raises the apple in his hand. “I was actually going to see Auguste off, and I was wondering if you’d like to come? You’re welcome as well, of course.” Laurent turns to include Dubois, the larger the audience the better.

“Didn’t your father tell you not to see your brother this morning?” Uncle’s tone turns scolding.

“He thinks I’ll bother or distract him, but I’ll be quick. I—” Laurent lets his voice quiver, “I might not see him again. You won’t tell, will you?”

Uncle sounds saccharine and pitying when he replies. “Of course not, let us finish our food and we’ll accompany you.”

Laurent smiles and turns his attention to the apple while he waits for them to finish. The men are leisurely in their egress and Laurent has to pay attention to avoid tapping his foot impatiently. He still has so much he needs to do this morning.

Laurent is largely silent on the walk from the dining hall to the courtyard, but uncle and Dubois seem to find no issue with his laconism and happily talk over his head. Laurent pays attention in a passive manner; he registers that they’re discussing the war and espousing the usual Veretian nationalistic talking points. Most of Laurent’s thoughts are focused on how to ensure his uncle ends up on the battlefield. Laurent has decided that there’s no better place for avunculicide available to him.

Soon the trio arrives at the courtyard and Auguste is donning the last of his armour next to the general.

Laurent lets out a breath. He had been quite sure he would wake up to live this morning again but the confirmation that Auguste doesn’t have an arrow in his jugular is comforting nonetheless.

Auguste looks up and smiles as they approach. “Laurent!” Auguste pulls him into his side in a pseudo hug that Laurent tries his best to appreciate despite the distinctly hard and pointy armour he’s been pulled into. “Uncle, Lord Dubois.”

Uncle and Dubois greet Auguste genially and Laurent knows this is his chance.

“We came to see you off, Auguste. I don’t know why father asked me not to, if I were a few years older, I’d be fighting beside you.”

“Yes, well let me count one blessing.” Auguste squeezes Laurent’s shoulder. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell father.”

“A military career is a fine and respectable role for a second son.” Laurent intones his voice to sound as if he’s quoting someone.

“Sure, but most second sons aren’t my baby brother.”

Laurent makes a face and waits for a beat. “Uncle, what about you? Why aren’t you fighting?”

Dubois and the general look thoughtful.

“I have to stay back and protect you, Laurent. After all, if something were to happen to Auguste, heavens forbid, you would be the heir.” Uncle’s eyes look tight around the corners.

Laurent pretends to think it over. “Didn’t you push father to join the battle, and for Auguste to lead the front line? They’re higher ranked than I am.”

The general begins to nod.

“They’re Vere’s leaders, history would look unkindly on them staying behind the keep’s walls like cowards.”

“But it’s not cowardly for you to do the same?” Laurent lets his question hang in the air. “You don’t have to fight on the front lines, you could accompany me to the back of the army. History will look more kindly on that than hiding behind your family you’ve sacrificed like common soldiers.” Laurent smiles with his teeth bared.

Dubois speaks up, “You were just talking about optics. You don’t have to fight, just appear to.”

Uncle’s tone is acerbic. “Auguste is the best fighter in Vere and Aleron will be well behind the front lines, you really think I’d sacrifice my family?”

“No, that’s why you’ll accompany me to the back. I want to see a battle and you were staying back here to watch me anyway.”

Auguste looks to the sun to check the time and then back down at uncle, obviously impatient. The general look expectantly at uncle and Dubois frowns, waiting.

They’ve clearly run out of time for uncle to continue trying to talk his way out of Laurent’s proposal. His eyes dart around for help that isn’t forthcoming.

“We’ll be accompanied by a unit of guards, of course,” Uncle says it like this was his plan all along. “It seems I need to go prepare for battle. Goodbye.” He nods and turns to leave.

Laurent watches as he walks away.

Auguste motions over Jord and Orlant tasks them with gathering a small unit to accompany Laurent and their uncle. Laurent waits and ushers Jord to follow him to the armoury while Orlant rushes off the find the appropriate soldiers.

Hopefully the armoury will be empty enough for Laurent to convince Jord of the importance of stopping Auguste and Damianos. Again.

Laurent grabs an arrow and a whetstone and begins to speak.

***

There is little time to prepare, especially with Laurent’s discussion with Jord, but soon the unit is in formation around Laurent and uncle and they all ride out together, tailing the Veretian army. It’s easy to tell that uncle is a man unused to battle, he wears his armour poorly, his straps look comfortable and therefore loose enough to allow for more potential weak spots. Laurent doesn’t mention it.

When the horn sounds and the arrows begin to fly, Laurent signals to Jord with a discreet hand motion that they had agreed on earlier and Jord picks up his pace and yells for the soldier’s attention.

Laurent subtly slows his horse’s gait alongside uncle’s. Uncle is clearly hesitant to follow the excited soldiers and his horse responds by following Laurent’s horse’s lead. Soon they’re in the back of the rear-most unit of the battle, out of any eyelines. Laurent reaches back to his quiver and slides out the arrow he had sharpened. He holds it low, out of sight.

Laurent leans over and beckons his uncle closer so he can speak over the din of the battle.

“It’s wild what can happen in a battle.” 

Laurent swings his arm and plunges the arrow in uncle’s neck.

“A stray arrow can come from anywhere.”

Laurent listens to his uncle choke on his own blood.

He waits for a beat to ensure that the wound is fatal and then calls for the guard. “My uncle has fallen! I need to make sure Auguste is still alive! With me!” Laurent doesn’t wait for a response and rides hard into the battle ahead.

It turns out that it’s much easier to make your way through an army when you have a group of soldiers at your call, doing much of the work of clearing a path for you. They end up losing most of the unit as soldiers are held up in the melee, but Jord and Laurent make it to Auguste and Damianos with haste.

Laurent practically throws himself off his horse in his hurriedness to dismount and get to his brother. Jord at his back, he slips into the circle where Auguste has just disarmed Damianos and is calling for him to pick up his blade. Laurent doesn’t hesitate.

He throws himself in between the two crown princes just as the horns begin to call. He looks up at Auguste.

“Father and uncle have fallen; we need to retreat.” He then looks to a baffled Damianos, “We surrender.”

Auguste’s sword point drops to the earth as the calls from the soldiers affirm Laurent’s claims. His eyes turn distant and hard as he looks Damianos in the eye. “We surrender.”

Damianos nods and offers his hand, “You have until sundown to collect your dead and injured and vacate Marlas. We’ll discuss the terms of your surrender in the morning.”

Auguste reaches out and they shake hands.

***

Laurent is hesitant to let Auguste out of his sight. It’s probably assumed that his clinginess is due to his grief over his family, but Laurent grieved his parents’ deaths a decade ago, and his uncle’s death is no reason for grief. Laurent just can’t bear for this cycle to continue. If he’s wrong and killing uncle and keeping his brother and Damianos alive isn’t enough to end this time magic, Laurent isn’t sure what he’ll do.

He watches Auguste with eagle-eyed attention, waiting for some cosmic misfortune to befall him. Unfortunately, bureaucracy manages to get in the way of Laurent’s vigil. Auguste is the king apparent and has many more duties to attend to than his thirteen-year-old little brother does, and Laurent isn’t allowed to follow him around for all of them. This strikes Laurent—who has been present in many more council meetings as the Veretian king than Auguste has—as dramatically ironic. Laurent has even bartered over Delfeur with Akielon royalty before. Tragically, no one would accept Laurent’s experience and knowledge without sending him away for insanity.

Laurent thinks this all over as he walks away from the council room from which he’s just been ejected. He heads towards his rooms where servants are most likely packing away his belongings for their retreat. His guess is confirmed when he finds his rooms bustling with activity. Laurent, who desperately wants to either be by his brother’s side or else completely alone, turns on his heel, and heads up the hallway towards a secluded balcony he suspects will be empty. In his experience as an adult in Marlas, it was a common spot for trysts, but Laurent doubts very many Veretians are feeling particularly amorous currently.

As he walks, he becomes aware of a set of footsteps following him, Laurent is immediately on edge. He’s turned down too many hallways and stairwells for it to be a coincidence. He grabs at the hilt of his sword and draws it as he turns.

The face on the other end of his blade is familiar; Jord looks warily down at Laurent.

Laurent lowers his sword but doesn’t yet sheathe it. “You’re following me. Why?”

“Perhaps we should move somewhere more private.”

Laurent doesn’t move.

Jord sighs and reaches for his own sword. Laurent immediately raises his own only for Jord to hand over his sword, hilt first. Laurent, baffled, takes it in his left hand. He has no other hands for the knife Jord hands him next, nor the stiletto dagger he pulls from his boot. “To prove I mean you no harm, Your Highness.”

Laurent sheathes his own sword and awkwardly holds all three of Jord’s weapons. Laurent knows there are still several ways Jord could cause him harm but probably not before Laurent could puncture him with his own blade. Besides, Jord may be imperfect, but Laurent has never questioned his safety in Jord’s presence and isn’t about to do so now because he followed Laurent.

“Follow me.” They’re close to the balcony now and Laurent leads them there.

Once they arrive and find it empty Laurent puts the knife and sword down on the ground behind him. He keeps the dagger and twirls it absentmindedly as he leans on the wall and looks coolly at Jord, waiting for an explanation.

“I—” Jord starts and stops, clearly thinking over what he wants to say. “I didn’t think any of the archers could reach as far back as we were, Prince Laurent.”

There are probably other moments Jord is thinking of. He had seen Laurent sharpening an arrow while they spoke and agreed to take the attention away from Laurent right before Laurent’s uncle died. From an arrow wound.

“Akielon archers must be more adept than we give them credit for.” Laurent keeps his face even.

“Your Highness.” The title sounds like Jord has breathed it out. He looks like a man at the end of his endless loyalty. He stares at the dagger currently spinning dexterously between Laurent’s young fingers.

Laurent stills the dagger and speaks slowly, mulling over every word. “My uncle was not a good man, Jord.” He looks up as he thinks. “Not that I had anything to do with his death.” At this Laurent looks Jord in the eye.

Jord appears conflicted. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, you’ve been right about everything else, I just—he was a prince.”

“Royalty is fallible. If you want to know more about the type of person my uncle was, there’s a man. An archer. He was employed by my uncle—he’ll be in a bar somewhere tonight, celebrating a job well done or mourning the income he lost with my uncle’s life. There’s a man who will kill him, large, ugly piece of work. If the archer’s alive, he’ll have a letter describing his employment, if he’s dead, Govart will. I hope that, if you read this letter, you’ll agree with whoever my uncle’s killer is.”

Jord looks thoughtful. “Where would I look for this archer, if I wanted to read that letter?”

Laurent grins and tells him everything he knows of Paschal’s brother and Govart. As they’re wrapping up and Laurent is handing Jord back his weapons, Jord speaks up.

“One more thing.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow and waits for him to continue.

“How— how do you know all of this? The letter, your brother’s fight with Prince Damianos, you knew your father, may he rest in peace, was dead before the horns sounded.”

“Oh Jord, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

***

The next morning Laurent wakes to a hand on his shoulder.

Auguste is urging him awake. Last night, Laurent had found it impossible to sleep and had dragged his pallet from his tent to his brother’s before exhaustion had overtaken him. He’s never been so glad to wake on a shitty camp mattress. His eyes sting with relieved tears and he blinks them away stubbornly.

“I know you were up late and it’s early,” Auguste’s voice is soft and apologetic, “but you were technically the one who surrendered for us, and you’re next in line now, so the council expects you at the meeting with Akielos.”

Laurent has never felt so awake. 

Auguste leaves and Laurent readies himself quickly, Auguste had thought to be kind and let him sleep in but that only means Laurent is now in a rush. He has to brush his hair now, it’s terribly time-consuming to have hair past his chin.

As he heads back to Auguste’s tent, he’s joined by Jord.

“I found the physician’s brother. He was still alive, but I did manage to meet the lovely Govart on my way out. I offered to deliver the letter to Paschal myself.” He pulls out a letter and hands it to Laurent. “I think you might need this more than Paschal though.”

Laurent looks down at the letter. It’s clearly been opened by Jord already. He hadn’t even thought to incriminate his uncle, he’d just wanted to earn Jord’s trust.

“I’m sorry for not having more faith in you, Prince Laurent. You were right, I’m glad he’s dead.”

“I’m not a deity, Jord, I don’t require faith. It speaks to your merit that you don’t trust thoughtlessly.”

Jord looks at him like—well, like he’s a thirteen-year-old boy who has just spoken with wisdom beyond his years. Laurent thinks of what he would have thought if Nicaise had begun speaking like this. Probably wondered if he had been swapped for a changeling.

“If you ever want to tell me about how you learned all of—” Jord waves his hand loosely,” this, I’d believe you.”

Laurent thinks Jord might even be telling the truth. “Not today Jord, today we have a province to surrender.”

***

The Akielons, wary of another trap, insisted on the Veretians meeting them on neutral ground between the fort and their camp. Both Akielon and Veretian soldiers had set up the tent.

Both kings sit opposite each other at a large table and Laurent, as the crown prince, stands behind his brother’s right shoulder. Councillor Herode stands to Auguste’s left, across from where Damianos is standing at his own king’s right hand.

Despite his mandated attendance, Laurent isn’t expected to actually participate much and is free to watch Damianos. He’s almost the same age that Laurent was when they first met. Damianos’ adulthood seems to be a recent development and Laurent knows he’ll manage to gain even more muscle over the coming years. He also hasn’t yet adopted his habit of letting a few days of stubble grow in before shaving and his face looks even younger for it.

Damianos’ dark eyes are focused on Auguste and he appears to be studying him. Laurent wonders what Damianos is hoping to find in Auguste’s face. Laurent is caught up in his own thoughts and is taken off guard when Damianos looks up and his eyes meet Laurent’s. Against instinct, neither look away. Damianos studies Laurent like he’d been studying Auguste. Laurent feels weak with it. Those deep brown eyes are familiar and Laurent aches with how much he misses Damen. 

Both look away when it’s announced the treaty has been signed and ratified. Delfeur is officially under Akielon rule again.

Eager to grieve their losses and retreat, the Veretians hurry to leave and Laurent doesn’t see Damianos again before he’s retreating to Arles with his brother at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! He did it! But the story's not over!! We still have 3 more chapters!! The second half of the story is pretty different from the first (less battles to the death lol) but I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> You know, I really respect Pacat as a writer, and her never naming the regent was really cool, but fuck did it make my life harder when writing this. Is he just "uncle" because we're in a close third-person pov and that's how Laurent would think of him? Or is it "Laurent's uncle"? Can't call him the regent though! Anyway, it was hard, please ignore any inconsistencies lol
> 
> Also, if you read this and were like, hey this sounds like you're opening a plotline where Laurent tells jord about everything, you're right it does sound like that, and if I were a better writer I could probably figure out a way to make it happen. But, as much as I love a character-tries-to-convince-another-character-of-some-magic-bullshit, Laurent just isn't an open person lol. All that is to say, please don't get your hopes up


	6. Chapter 5: Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I've tricked you all, this has secretly been a plot to make people read my in-depth worldbuilding wrt Vere! Don't worry though, I don't think it's very dense, but if you notice any similarities to 18th century France, it's absolutely on purpose. (One day I'll figure out a way to make people listen to my thoughts re art and architecture in Vere and Akielos after Damen and Laurent combine the kingdoms)
> 
> Also cw for vague references to child abuse, let me know if you want a more specific/spoiler-y cw! It's way tamer than in canon though

_Quatorzième_

Laurent has been awake since the grey hours of the morning, kept busy with last-minute fittings and a constant stream of well wishes. It’s mid-morning now and Laurent finally has a moment to himself. He absently brushes his hair—he’s kept in long—as he stares out the window and loses himself to his thoughts.

Arles is celebrating his fourteenth birthday today, but Laurent has been alive for twenty-four years now. His mind still feels adult, but his voice is going to start cracking soon. It’s terribly confusing but it’s been almost a year since he saved his brother at Marlas and Laurent finally feels resigned to reliving his youth. Laurent isn’t necessarily comfortable with longing for a life without Auguste but Laurent hurts with how much he misses Damen. But he can be patient; if there’s one thing Laurent has now, it’s time. Well, time and a living brother.

When the Veretian troops had finished their retreat back to Arles, the city had seemed almost to be asleep, the early summer heat making the populace lethargic. They hadn’t properly mourned Hennike’s death and now the late king and his brother had died as well. The city was shrouded in black. It took Auguste’s ascension the following month to shake the city from its grief. Veils were quickly and enthusiastically replaced with starbursts.

Early summer had been busy for Auguste and, ironically, kingship allowed him more free time. His declaration that he would be setting aside at least three evenings a week to spend time with his brother was taken as fact and not questioned the same way the matronly head of house would have dismissed Laurent if he’d said the same. Princes were precocious and flighty; kings were to be obeyed. Even if that meant leaving Auguste and Laurent to play games in the king’s rooms undisturbed.

Laurent found that he actually got to know his brother for the first time. As much as Laurent idolized Auguste as a child, childhood comes with a certain amount of self-centeredness that meant that Laurent only knew how Auguste was in reference to himself. For example, Laurent didn’t remember if Auguste had actually enjoyed horse riding, just that he was faster than Laurent when they raced. 

This time around, Laurent asked questions about Auguste’s philosophies and politics, his fears and dreams. Laurent luxuriated in these conversations. Auguste had become a symbol to Laurent, like a stained-glass window: simple and idolized. But as Laurent got to actually know and understand Auguste, that flat depiction became better rendered, now he was an oil painting: lush and nuanced and alive, so alive.

It was wonderful and truly marvellous, but it wasn’t perfect. Auguste had become immaculate in Laurent’s memory. But, like most mortal men, Auguste wasn’t actually flawless. Laurent tried not to be disappointed when Auguste dismissed the issues with the pet system as low-priority or espoused casual anti-Akielon sentiments. Laurent also found that, while Auguste was eager to spend time with Laurent, he wasn’t particularly receptive to political advice from a thirteen-year-old.

Laurent took these faults as a personal challenge. He slipped in thoughts and hints during regular conversation. When they talked about Laurent’s lack of friends his age at court, he mentioned that there were pets his age at court, he could befriend them. When asked about his training, Laurent remarked that Councillor Guion was in the training ring talking to a woman known to be a Vaskian nationalist facilitating raids into Vere, isn’t that peculiar?

Laurent sometimes thinks that, while his uncle’s absence from court makes any of Laurent’s aspirations infinitely less dangerous, his age still puts him at a disadvantage. Lords and Ladies are more likely to fawn over him than listen to his, frankly prescient, policy ideas.

Laurent can’t help but compare this adolescence with his first.

When Laurent had actually been a child, he had been kept in the palace, isolated. Uncle had said it was for Laurent’s protection and Laurent had simply accepted that as true. Laurent had been kept like a porcelain doll in a case, beautiful and terribly alone. His guard had been his closest companions which, retrospectively, probably wasn’t the most healthy.

This past year Laurent has been allowed almost free range of the City of Arles, with the provision that he be accompanied by at least one guard. Laurent was tentative at first, the freedom was overwhelming, and Laurent had never gotten familiar with the streets of the city he grew up in. It didn’t take long though for Laurent to find spots that aligned with his interests. He familiarized himself with a horse track on the eastern outskirts of the city. To his guards’ surprise, he befriended the jockeys rather than the elite men and women who bet on the races.

He’s also begun to patronize local salons and coffee shops. It took some time to find them through whispers and rumours, but these spots were the hubs of philosophy and thought in Arles and Laurent’s status was enough to gain him entrance despite his age. Most of the armchair philosophers were students. Laurent’s early twenties had been spent in the company of courtiers and soldiers and he was delighted by these young adults who would read and think and theorize just for the enjoyment of the discourse. Laurent often had perceptive contributions to their lively discussions and many of the older patrons treated him like a particularly brilliant younger brother and the people closer to his perceived age befriended him with enthusiasm.

Life within the palace has also been freer. Laurent is able to train without hiding his efforts from his uncle. He’s considered a prodigy in sword fighting which is frustrating to an extent, he had put in years of work into being such an adept swordsman, his talent was in hard work, not combat.

Laurent, so caught up in his thoughts and methodical brushing, startles when his door rings with a sharp knock.

“Come in.” Laurent resigns himself to more primping but it’s Auguste who enters his room.

“Happy birthday, Laurent.” Auguste’s smile is crooked, and his words are warm as he walks over and scoops Laurent into a hug.

Laurent looks up at his brother and guffaws, “What is that thing on your head?!” Laurent can’t stop his laughs.

“Hey, I heard they’re all the rage at the Kemptian derbies. I thought it would help me fit in with your racing friends.” Auguste touches the oversized feather on his confection of a hat self-consciously.

Laurent takes a deep breath and wipes a tear away. “It most certainly will not but I think you should wear it regardless, you look—” Laurent is cut off by his own giggles. “—you look very dashing.”

Auguste grins good-naturedly and chuckles along with Laurent. “Perhaps it’s a little silly. Only a little though.”

“No, no, I love it, don’t get rid of it.”

“Good thing it can be both silly and lovely and a fixture in your wardrobe.” Auguste unclips the fasteners in his hat and plops it on Laurent’s head. Laurent fusses with the feather but wears it, grinning.

“This is the best gift you could give me; I’m going to be the best dressed in Kempt.”

“Speaking of, don’t forget to find me after the banquet tonight, we’re getting you some big state gift, but I have an actual present for you. Now, I actually came here to make sure our plans are still fine, I know you were waiting to hear back from Yvon.”

“We’re meeting Yvon and them on the university campus after the dance. Apparently, a king is a bit more intimidating than a thirteen-year-old boy, they’re all terribly nervous to meet you so you must be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

Laurent isn’t convinced but it’ll have to be enough. Yvon, his closest friend from the salon, had been more than happy to meet Laurent’s older brother when Laurent had asked, but had become much more hesitant when he remembered that Laurent’s brother was also the King of Vere.

Laurent removes the outrageous hat and places it in his wardrobe, delighted with its ridiculousness. As he’s returning to his main room, he sees that his brother has been joined by the palace staff, hairdresser at the head. Auguste is discreetly trying to escape and waves at Laurent as he narrowly misses the attention of the fastidious cosmetician and ducks out of Laurent’s rooms.

Laurent resigns himself to one last round of primping and walks over to the vanity. It isn’t every day he turns both fourteen and twenty-four.

***

_Quinzième_

It’s the first day this year that’s warm enough to spend outside. The sky is bright and empty, but the air still has a bite to it. Laurent pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulder, this street is shaded but he’s approaching the park where he’s agreed to meet his friends should be nice and sunny.

He rubs his thumb over the Vaskian embroidery along the hems of his cloak sleeves as he hurries his pace. Jord’s steps quicken behind him.

Laurent and Jord arrive at the park quickly and Laurent leads them towards the group lounging around one of the benches. The park is the first public park in Arles and, embarrassingly, a gift to Laurent from Auguste for his fifteenth birthday. It was almost named after him before Laurent caught wind and threatened retribution. At least it seems to have held up through its first winter, Laurent hasn’t been in Arles for almost half a year and he’s glad to see the park still well-manicured, if a bit browner than the last time Laurent was here.

“Laurent!” Laurent finds himself caught up in an enthusiastic hug. He freezes but relaxes just as quickly and pats the arm around his torso awkwardly.

Marie lets him go and smiles up at him. It’s an odd angle considering she’d been the same height as him the last time he saw her.

“Marie, hello. How’s Châtaigne?” Laurent asks after her racehorse as she shepherds him over to the group where he’s met with a chorus of hellos. Jord also receives a warm welcome, he’s fairly familiar to most of Laurent’s friends as he’s most often assigned as Laurent’s guard on his city excursions.

Marie waves off Laurent’s inquiries with a loose hand. “Fine, fine, but we didn’t arrange this to catch up on horses, tell us about Vask! Were there bears? Did you see the leopards? Did you _pet_ the leopards?” Laurent smiles at her outburst. Her effusiveness is as bright as the midday sun above them.

“No, I did not _pet_ them. I prefer my limbs intact, I’m afraid.”

“So, you did see them?” Yvon speaks up.

“Well, yes, I did visit the Empress’s court. They were only there when I was first introduced though. I think it was meant to intimidate me.”

“Oh, you think?” Yvon ribs Laurent, smiling.

Laurent smiles back. “Well, I don’t find fifteen-year-olds in any particular need of intimidation, but I suppose I’d prefer she think she needs to scare me than not.”

“Ah yes, the fearsome Prince Laurent, he’d argue her into an invasion.”

Laurent takes the joke with good humour, it’s well earned, he’s known around the salons and coffee shops for his quick wit and enthusiasm for lively debate.

“Speaking of an invasion, his highness brought a Vaskian back to court with him.” Jord sits on the lawn next to Aimee, a prolific political philosophy student.

“Her name is Vannes and she’s Veretian, she just grew up in Ver-Vassal.” Laurent turns Aimee, the only one in this group who will truly appreciate his political aspirations with this move. “She’s whip-smart and even better, a terrible gossip. She’ll make a fantastic ambassador if I can get her to stop threatening the men of the court.”

Aimee’s small smile and nod of endorsement are exactly what Laurent was hoping for. He has the benefit of knowing that Vannes will indeed make a wonderful council member, but he wasn’t sure if bringing a woman back from a foreign country would be too scandalous for the bastard-hating Veretians.

Laurent had been lucky to find Vannes, their party hadn’t initially been planning to stop in the town that Vannes grew up in, but when they had passed near it and Laurent had recognized the town name, he scoured the town for her. In Laurent’s first life, she had made her way to the court by way of her noble aunt when Laurent was seventeen. But Laurent didn’t want to wait this time, and he didn’t have to worry about the inevitable expiry date of women in his uncle’s court. She’d enthusiastically taken up Laurent’s offer to come to Arles with him, she’d always been too big for her small town. In the week they’ve been back in the palace, she’s taken to court life swimmingly.

Laurent may have decided to live this version of his life to its fullest, but he never forgets his first life, he isn’t ready to give it up and Vannes is the first weft in a complicated tapestry that will tie together both worlds.

***  
_Seizième_

Auguste and Laurent hold their positions, waiting for the call from Jord. Laurent is still and poised as marble, his eyes narrowed as he watches his brother in anticipation. Auguste shifts his weight back and forth, his feet rooted and sure.

“Begin!”

Auguste lunges first, his downward blade sliding off Laurent’s as they both take rocking steps back. Auguste’s blade dips as they assess each other and Laurent lunges forward, forcing Auguste back. Laurent easily counters Auguste’s last-second attempt to meet him and Laurent’s sword arcs over his head.

Auguste raises his blade to defend and Laurent side-steps, using the momentum off of Auguste’s sword to swing his sword around, behind them both and onto the nape of Auguste’s neck.

They both heave breaths as their dulled swords dip towards the dirt of the training arena. They’re playing to the first hit which means—

“Three-two Prince Laurent.” Jord isn’t alone at the side of the arena; watching the prodigious prince swordfight the king is always popular entertainment. The crowd is a mix of soldiers and courtiers. Laurent spots Vannes speaking with a southern lady.

“A year or two and I won’t stand a chance.” Auguste grins over at Laurent as they’re brought drinks of water.

“I hope your ego will survive,” Laurent calls to his brother as Auguste laughs and leaves to put his sword away. 

Beating Auguste in swordplay is bittersweet for Laurent. He had grown up with the idea of Auguste as this unmatched talent, there simply was no better sword fighter. Even after his death, Laurent had nursed this idea, idolizing his brother like the sculptures of passed monarchs at the Kingsmeet.

Laurent still remembers when he lost that fight to Damen in the indoor training arena at Marlas, he’d told Damen that Auguste was better than Laurent, that Auguste would have beaten Damen. Which, of course, was demonstrably untrue. That realization hurt infinitely more than losing the fight.

Learning at his own hands that Auguste isn’t some mythic sword-wielding demigod shatters some of Laurent’s long-held beliefs. It’s very different to know something intellectually and to see proof of it at the end of your own blade. Auguste is by all means incredibly talented, but Laurent has practiced longer and harder and with the only man known to best Auguste in battle. It really only took puberty and a body closer to the one he was used to for Laurent to start winning their training bouts. Sixteen has been kind to Laurent, he’s shot up and begun to lose some of the softness of his childhood.

Auguste’s return shakes Laurent from his thoughts. Auguste has put away his sword and stands at Laurent’s side, looking over at their informal audience thoughtfully.

“I wasn’t sure about your choice last year.”

Laurent is confused until he sees that Auguste’s gaze is fixed on Vannes.

“I’m beginning to see now that the things that worried me about her are actually strengths.” The corner of Auguste’s mouth pulls up. “All her gossip is purposeful, isn’t it?”

“Well, in all fairness, I think she enjoys it too. But yes, she understands the courtiers in a way I never will which means she can learn and influence things I never could.”

Auguste’s gaze turns to Laurent, full of ponderance.

“Laurent?”

Laurent pushes a piece of stray hair out of his face. “Yes?”

“What are your thoughts on the Vaskian nationalist groups gathering in Vere?”

Laurent blinks at the apparent subject change. And then again as he digests Auguste’s question. Auguste has never asked him about matters of state, always insisting on insulating Laurent from politics. Auguste’s tone is serious and interested, it sounds like when he speaks with his councillors.

A brightness bubbles up in Laurent’s chest. He may never be the King of Vere again but dammit all if he isn’t going to make sure that Auguste is the best king Vere has ever had.

Laurent smiles and begins to speak.

***

_Dix-septième_

Laurent paces. His body is unable to stay still, overflowing with frustration and anxiety.

“You can’t insult him. Or me, you can’t insult me either.”

As soon as he says it, Laurent realizes his mistake.

“Fuck you.”

Nicaise looks defiant and privately proud of himself for his curse.

Laurent sighs.

He should have known better than to give Nicaise a direct order, the boy had always thrived on rebellion. Laurent had hoped that his gratitude towards Laurent for saving him along with the magnitude of meeting the King of Vere would be enough for Nicaise to obey but it seems his need for obstinacy has won out.

Since turning seventeen, Laurent has been keeping closer tabs on the more lecherous side of Arles. He has a reform proposal regarding the pet system that had served as an excuse to track the types of men that would lead him to Nicaise.

Laurent knew that Nicaise had first been hired by the regent when Laurent was seventeen and he wasn’t planning on letting some other terrible man take his uncle’s place.

It had taken many false alarms and contact with some people Laurent wasn’t particularly comfortable working alongside, but last night they had found the house keeping Nicaise.

Laurent had spent that evening arranging for accommodations for the rest of the children in the house and most of this morning convincing Nicaise that yes, he is the prince and yes, he wants Nicaise to live in the palace and, no Nicaise won’t be expected to enter a pet contract.

Nicaise is distrusting to a fault and has been spitting venom since his arrival to the palace. Laurent had once heard his own behaviour as an adolescent referred to as self-sabotaging. This term comes to mind as he watches Nicaise make a rude gesture at Jord. Despite this contrarian attitude, Laurent feels that he’s adequately convinced Nicaise that life as a ward of the crown prince is preferable to any pet contract.

The only person Laurent has left to convince of anything is Auguste.

This will be the first time in two generations that a Veretian royal has taken a ward under official channels, and the first time in memory that the ward is of such low social standing.

Laurent hopes that his reputation as an eccentric egalitarian will earn him favour. Nicaise’s attitude certainly won’t.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to convince King Auguste on your own.” Laurent baits Nicaise.

Laurent immediately feels bad when a small hand darts out and grabs his arm to keep him from leaving. The grip is tight. Laurent keeps forgetting that this isn’t the immature but independent fourteen-year-old Nicaise, wizened by his experiences within Arles, this Nicaise is eleven and while he’s known cruelty, he’s still guileless in a way that the Nicaise Laurent remembers wasn’t. 

“No, you can stay. I guess.”

“Thank you.” Laurent slides his hand over Nicaise’s and gently pulls away his fingers before squeezing Nicaise’s hand reassuringly and letting go. “Let’s go talk to my brother.”

***

_Dix-huitième_

Laurent fiddles with the hem of his left sleeve and he crosses his ankles. He’s sitting on a bench in the palace gardens, waiting anxiously. 

The gardens are one part of the palace that hasn’t changed much from his memory. The court under King Auguste is still titillating in a distinctly Veretian manner, but the debauched hedonism of the Regent’s court remains only in Laurent’s memory. Despite the difference in courts, it turns out that topiary is pruned much the same under either ruler.

Footsteps approach and Laurent looks over to see the man he’s planning to meet. Lord Beauvau is only just slightly taller than Laurent and broader in the shoulders. His burnished red hair glints in the late afternoon sunlight and the freckles sprinkled generously over his face shift as he smiles at Laurent.

Lord Beauvau is a minor lord from the western Veretian province of Barbin. He enjoys horse riding and theatre and is also currently in process of courting Laurent.

“Hello Beauvau, I hope my message didn’t interrupt anything important?” Laurent moves to the side so Beauvau can sit next to him on the bench.

“Not at all, I was discussing next week’s hunt with Lady Genovese. Our thoughts on chamois versus pheasant can certainly wait.” Beauvau chuckles softly.

This would be much easier if Beauvau wasn’t just a genuinely agreeable person. Laurent realizes that he’s created this situation for himself, but he can’t help but curse the universe.

When Laurent turned eighteen, Auguste, at the pressure of the court, had urged Laurent to either begin courting or to accept the courtship of his many suitors. Auguste, who is currently in the process of a years-long courtship with a daughter of the Vaskian Empire, understood that Laurent wasn’t interested in anyone and, while he respected Laurent’s feelings, thought that he should at least try for appearance’s sake. Laurent is the heir to the crown and courtship of any kind would put to rest the sense of unease around there only being one unmarried person with a claim to the throne after Auguste.

Laurent still isn’t sure how him courting another man helps with the heir anxiety but showing interest in anyone has always been rare for Laurent so anything must be better than nothing. After weeks of cajoling from his brother and Vannes, he had conceded to try for the sake of optics.

His courtship with Lord Beauvau has delighted the court, but no one more than Nicaise who considers Laurent’s personal life his own entertainment. Laurent despairs for the boy, Laurent’s personal life isn’t particularly exciting. Even this farce of a courtship has been banal.

Perhaps Laurent’s standards are high, considering his first and only romantic relationship involved coups, warfare, and the most attractive man Laurent has ever met.

Lord Beauvau has been perfectly gentlemanly and in a situation where Laurent had never met Damen, he might allow the courtship to continue. But Laurent can’t shake the feeling of unfaithfulness. He and the lord haven’t done more than ride horses and sit next to each other at dinners but Laurent’s thoughts drift to his husband unerringly when he’s with Beauvau.

His husband who doesn’t remember him and is probably fucking some cadre of beautiful young adults currently.

But his heart can’t take the constant reminder of his relationship and what he lost five years ago.

“I know I didn’t tell Nicaise why I wanted to meet you. I—” Laurent finds himself lost for words. This isn’t a situation he ever thought he’d be in. “I have enjoyed our time together immensely.”

Beauvau reaches over and cradles Laurent’s hand. “So have I.” He’s so fucking earnest. Fuck.

“I’ve come to greatly treasure your friendship and I hope that this doesn’t damage it…” Laurent trails off and looks over. It takes a moment for Beauvau to understand Laurent’s intention.

His eyes fall and he purses his lips. “Ah, I see. I—I’m sorry.” He drops Laurent’s hand.

“It’s nothing you did, Beauvau.” Oh, how to explain his predicament. “There’s a soldier I fell in love with, but he died in battle. It’s unfair of me to continue this courtship when my heart belongs to another. You can’t compete with a ghost.”

Beauvau swallows thickly. “Thank for your honesty, I appreciate your integrity in this matter.” He can’t meet Laurent’s eyes and Laurent feels rather like he’s kicked a puppy.

This is awful, he was absolutely right to marry the first man he fell in love with.

Beauvau takes in a deep, shaky breath. “I think I need to leave now, Your Highness, thank you for the honour of making your acquaintance.” 

Laurent offers a reassuring smile. “I do hope our acquaintance can persevere, Beauvau.”

The lord nods shallowly and leaves the gardens.

Once he’s gone Laurent lets himself slump back.

He stays in that posture when Nicaise makes himself known, ducking out from a hedge nearby.

**“** You just broke his poor little heart.”

Laurent pulls his hand over his face. “Yes, I’m a terrible monster. I kick puppies and eat children and break Lord Beauvau’s heart.”

“It’s alright, you can do better than him.”

“Can I?”

“Of course, he was dull as a rock and didn’t know how to maintain his eyebrows.”

“They were rather unruly, weren’t they?”

“Like caterpillars!”

Laurent chuckles and gets up, urging them both back into the palace.

“Don’t think I’m going to let that thing about your dead soldier love go. You’ve never told me about him.” Nicaise allows himself to be herded indoors but his tone is obstinate.

“He was a soldier, I loved him, he’s dead.”

Nicaise pouts. “Come on Laurent. Please?”

Laurent breathes deeply. “A bit, I suppose.”

Nicaise lights up.

“He was Akielon and three times as wide as you in the shoulders.” As they walk, Laurent spins a tale of Vaskian mountain camps and horseback swordfights for an enrapt Nicaise.

***

_Dix-neuvième_

The room echoes with a thundering bang as Laurent shoves the doors open and storms inside.

“I found the instigators. Call your troops off. Now.” Laurent’s steps stop just short of the stately desk in the middle of the room.

“You’re late, _Your Highness._ ” Makedon raises from his seat at the intrusion. The Veretian title sounds like his tongue tripped amongst their Akielon conversation.

“And _you_ gave me bad information.” Laurent is drawn tense with fury.

Makedon’s eyebrows furrow, his inclination towards honour and candour clearly warring with his hatred of Veretians. “We gave you all the information we had.”

“They were Vaskian, not Veretian. Why would we attack Delfeur? These people were Veretian practically yesterday.”

“They left a Veretian flag in the town,” Makedon growls.

“They clearly didn’t underestimate your intellect. It took all of an hour of investigating to see it was meant to frame Vere. Everything they stole was perfect for a nomadic lifestyle, do you know of any nomadic Veretians, general?”

“I gave you three days to find the perpetrators, it’s the fourth day.”

“Yes, well I had to do all the work you were too lazy to do. Call off the Akielons.”

Makedon’s nostrils flare.

As Laurent and the general stare, unflinchingly, at each other, Laurent’s guard catches up and brings the prisoners with them. The four leaders of the group that had attacked and plundered a border town in Akielos, south of Acquitart, and framed Vere, are pushed down to kneel on the stone tile.

Makedon looks them over and scowls. “Call them back.” He gestures and a soldier leaves, ostensibly to call back the retaliatory battalion Makedon had sent into Vere when Laurent had missed his deadline for delivering the culprits.

Laurent feels the tension leaves his body and he closes his eyes briefly. He turns on his heel and moves to leave. He calls out, not particularly sincerely, “thank you for all your help, General.” And then, in a lower tone to Jord, “if this doesn’t call for a cup of griva.”

It seems his tone wasn’t low enough as he hears Makedon’s attention catch. “How does a green thing like you know what griva is.” His tone has shifted remarkably.

“I’ve been on border duty for almost six months, do you think I did that sober? Or only drinking sparkling wine?” Frankly, he had managed it with minimal drinking, he’d learned to fake what he didn’t want to imbibe, but it wasn’t like the north Akielon liquor was in high demand in Arles.

At this, Laurent notices Makedon perk up and a nearby soldier droops in an anticipated defeat. “Your reputation along the border is only superseded by your taste in alcohol, Your Highness.”

Laurent remembers his revelry with the general as a tipping point in Makedon’s opinion of him, but without the lead up of the okton win and Damen’s favour, Laurent is surprised by how simply the mention of his favourite drink has swayed Makedon’s demeanour. Perhaps it helps that Laurent didn’t fail to appear with troops to a brutal battle recently. He hopes his newly curated reputation along the border as an exacting military leader and a renowned diplomat has helped. When he had turned nineteen and been tasked with border duty, Laurent had volunteered to lead the dregs of the Veretian army and had been delighted to find many of the same people that he and Damen had trained together on that first trip south. Once at the border, and with an acceptable group of soldiers, Laurent had garnered respect for his skill as a tactician and negotiator. Unfortunately, Laurent knows Makedon well enough to know that it was more likely that Laurent was willing to insult him to his face that endeared him in any way to the general. 

“I’m hosting a hunt in two days' time; you and your guard should join us.” Makedon claps a hand onto Laurent’s shoulder.

“We’d be delighted.”

***

_Vingtième_

“You must accept my compliments to your new program, Your Highness. Your philanthropic efforts are truly admirable.” A lady bearing a powdered bouffant of hair and a scandalously low neckline leans in to ensure Laurent will hear her.

“Ah, thank you. It would be rather egocentric of me to think that talent corresponds to one’s wealth. I would be a much better artist if that were so.” Laurent smiles charmingly while the Lady titters. “It really is an honour to help fund so many gifted children. Vere’s future lies in the hands of our youngest.”

“That’s too true. If there’s any way my family can contribute, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too generous, I can certainly have my bookkeeper contact you. Now, it looks like the appetizers are about to be served and I have to go see one such prodigious youth.”

The lady follows Laurent’s gaze and sees Nicaise sitting next to Laurent’s empty seat. “Isn’t that the boy who called Lord Chapelle an elderly poodle?” Her tone is careful.

Laurent’s smile is much less manufactured than it had been a second earlier as he nods his head respectfully and turns to leave. “Probably.”

As Laurent gracefully makes his way through the mingling crowd, he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Laurent takes a private second to be frustrated and then adopts a smile as he turns to see who stopped him. It’s Lady Louise Cordonnier, her deep brown hair piled astronomically high atop her head. Laurent’s false affectation melts away as his attention is peaked. Lady Cordonnier was the heir to a formidable fort in Delfeur and had floated aimlessly around the court when Akielos won the war, a battle tactician drowning in the sugary opulence of the palace. It only took a conversation with her to see that her brand of intelligence was wasted on courtly gossip and Laurent had worked at his brother until last year she had been chosen to replace Guion as a council member. Any news she’s bringing him is likely very important.

“The raven will be ours.” Lady Cordonnier’s painted lips are quirked conspiratorially.

She’s not speaking plainly but the code isn’t difficult to parse. Laurent has wanted her instated at Ravenel instead of Lord Touars for some time and it sounds like their mission is set to succeed. Good. She’ll be a good influence at the border.

Lady Cordonnier is a talented tactician and her family name still carries weight with the southern forts. Most importantly she’s deeply loyal to Auguste and Vere, but perhaps more enjoyably for Laurent, she’s deeply loyal to him both as her prince and as a respected political leader. And she does things like using coded language at a court dinner. She’s fun.

“I’ll enjoy visiting your nest, Lady.” Laurent smiles and nods and finally makes it the rest of the way to his seat at the head table.

He’s seated between Nicaise and Vannes, there aren’t any important enough visitors to upset Laurent’s preferred arrangement.

As he sinks into his chair, he’s instantly bombarded with questions he assumes relate to the conversation they’d been having before he got there.

“Do you think you could use hoop skirts for reconnaissance purposes?” Vannes’ tone treats this question like a perfectly logical one but Laurent can’t quite seem to parse it.

“For hiding under! You could crawl under one and listen in!” Nicaise helps to elucidate.

Laurent, who chose this particular seating arrangement so that he could participate in discussions like these, purses his mouth in contemplation. “Well, I assume the hoop skirt wearer is in on the plot?”

“Of course!” Nicaise’s voice breaks in his vehemence.

“There are logistics to consider! Can you crawl in sync with her walking speed? How do you know what direction she’ll walk in? What happens when she has to sit down?” Vannes is clearly repeating herself.

Laurent’s only experience with Veretian ladies’ dresses involved the more provincial practice of petticoats as opposed to hoop skirts and he finds himself nodding along with Vannes. There are clearly many variables to consider.

Before Laurent can add to the discussion further, Auguste sits across from him. This isn’t traditionally Auguste’s position, but he tends to sit there when he wants to speak with Laurent at dinner. Laurent files away the hoop skirt debate for later and gives his attention to his brother.

“Laurent, Lady Vannes, Nicaise.” Auguste greets them as a servant brings Auguste’s wine glass over from his usual seat. “I have some more news regarding the wedding.”

After a years-long Vaskian style courtship, Auguste had finally proposed to Archduchess Janna, the eldest daughter of the Vaskian Empress, at the end of the past summer. Her acceptance of his proposal scandalized the Vaskian nation as it meant giving up her inheritance to the Vaskian throne. Laurent, who can admit he might possibly have control issues, has since begun to take a personal role in the planning of the wedding. He’d helped plan a coronation and a wedding that generally pleased Vere _and_ Akielos, surely he could do the same for the restless Vaskians. 

“I’ve received word from Akielos, the Akielon contingent will attend, they plan to arrive a month early. They claim they want to build relations.”

That wasn’t part of Laurent’s plan. That’s so many more courtiers to seat.

Wait.

“Who’s attending from Akielos?” Laurent says this carefully, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“The Kyros of Delfeur will accompany both princes and their households. I’d like your opinion on whether we should discourage them from bringing slaves.”

Laurent’s head feels light and he replies automatically. He says something about thinking on the matter and excuses himself from the table. He feels like he’s in a dream or like he’s walking through water. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Damen’s coming to Arles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this giant of a chapter, it's pretty different from anything else in the fic but I wanted to set up some stuff for future chapters and explore Laurent growing up in this weird situation. I also wanted to emphasize how Laurent's relationship with Auguste would change, given the opportunity for Laurent to get to know him, especially with the maturity of an adult. I have siblings with similar age gaps and I think a lot about what Auguste would actually be like, we only get to know him through the lens of Laurent's memories. For me, I think he was probably a really good brother, we know he spent a lot of time with Laurent, but I also like to think that he has a lot of the same flaws that book 1 damen has. Very black and white thinking, unwilling to question tradition, obstinate and a bit entitled. I didn't realllly get to explore that here but I have a lot of thoughts about it, thanks for coming to my end notes ted talk I guess lol


	7. Chapter 6: Déjà vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar cw to the last chapter (references to child abuse) for the same reasons/situation

The months leading up to the wedding—and therefore leading up to the Akielons’ arrival—are busy for Laurent. When he isn’t trying to decide if seating some dignitary next some captain will have international repercussions, his thoughts turn, almost unerringly, to Damen. He’s loath to admit it but he possibly might be fretting over the situation.

It’s bad enough that even Auguste has noticed. One evening he had, very seriously, expressed his confusion and concern over Laurent’s behaviour. He’d misinterpreted Laurent’s difficulty with the idea of visiting Akielons as resentment over the results of the Battle of Marlas, contrary to Laurent’s outspoken anti-xenophobia sentiments. Poor Auguste had looked like he’d thought himself into knots trying to figure Laurent out. Laurent, who really does try to avoid lying to Auguste, had offered some generality about the stress of hosting four foreign countries at once and swiftly changed the topic.

Laurent had barely even paused to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. The last time he’d turned twenty-one, it had included a coronation so perhaps his standards are just high. Nevertheless, as the Akielons’ arrival nears, Laurent’s free time is largely taken up by thinking about Damen.

Laurent thinks about a conversation he had had with Damen, years ago. Damen had told him he always thought he had to choose between Akielos and Laurent but that after their campaign, he went from thinking he could have a kingdom _or_ this to a kingdom _and_ this. It was terribly romantic in a heroic way. Since his journey through time, back to Marlas, Laurent has occasionally thought on this adage with a bittersweet ache. He’d gained a brother but, in the process, lost a crown and a husband. He has neither a kingdom nor _this_.

But perhaps that won’t always be the case. Damianos is set to arrive in Arles in two weeks.

Laurent remembers the first time Damen had arrived at Arles, chained and recalcitrant. Laurent doesn’t enjoy thinking back on their first months of acquaintance. Laurent has been allowed to cultivate the better parts of himself over the last decade and the reminder of his own cruelty curls hot and shameful in his chest. He remembers how Damen had been when they first met, defending slavery and thoughtless in his entitlement. He remembers gold paint, a dainty leash and Damen defending slavery ardently, his jaw brushing over the golden collar around his throat in austere irony as he spoke of surrendering free will and of obedience. Laurent had been cruel and capricious when they met but Damen hadn’t been particularly beatific either, brother-killing aside.

Laurent wishes he could orchestrate some international coup forcing them to work together to overcome usurpers, in the process falling in love and becoming better people. Curse the political stability he’s encouraged in Vere.

He’ll have to settle for a less grand plan in his goals of wooing his husband. Pity though.

***

The day of the Akielons’ arrival is bright with an early summer sun. The dew is still wet, and the sky is dotted with the occasional wisp of cloud.

Despite his preoccupation with Damen, Laurent still finds himself caught off guard when a scout announces at breakfast that the party is visible on the road and will arrive before lunch. He isn’t sure what else he could have done to prepare, but there’s still an undercurrent of disquietude thrumming through Laurent.

He performs his duties for the morning mechanically, letting Nicaise’s chatter speak for the both of them, and it isn’t long before he’s being summoned to the palace entrance to greet their visitors.

Laurent arrives just in time, taking his place beside Auguste and allowing his circlet to be placed on his head perfunctorily with only moments to spare before the heralds begin to announce the arrival of the Akielons.

They arrive in Veretian carriages, an odd juxtaposition with their Akielon appearance, but, Laurent supposes, they must have left Ios by ship and travelled the distance from Marches to the palace in Arles without their own horses.

Nikandros is the first to emerge but he waits for Damen to get out so that they can all be announced in the traditional order of rank.

When Damianos emerges, it’s like falling into a memory. He looks just like when Laurent ascended to king, there are golden laurels in his hair and the slight wrinkles outside his eyes are the same. Laurent’s heart aches.

It’s clear that the Akielons are offering this visit all the respect they can afford, someone has wrestled Damianos into a more formal himation instead of his preferred chiton and cloak. It’s dyed a deep red that complements his warm brown skin and he looks every ounce the Akielon golden prince.

Once Damianos is announced, Kastor follows him, and then Nikandros. Laurent is just turning his attention to the approaching men and away from the carriage when a stately blonde head is helped out and Lady Jokaste of Aegina is announced.

Well fuck. She _would_ still be around, wouldn’t she.

Laurent wonders, briefly, if his assessment of her character all those years ago has held true or if she’s unfaithful to Damianos in a world without Kastor’s betrayal as well. He always could have underestimated Kastor’s commitment, but frankly, Laurent doubts it. Kastor is greedy and bitter but required provocation. Provocation which Laurent killed eight years ago with an arrow to the neck.

The proceedings continue heedless of Laurent’s musings and he blinks to find that Damianos has approached him and Auguste.

“Your Majesty.” Damianos sweeps into a bow, below his station as a prince but befitting a man meeting a king. “We are honoured to be guests in your beautiful home, and I, personally, would like to offer my sincere congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

“Our brother of Akielos, you’re most welcome in Arles.” Auguste greets Damianos in the Akielon fraternal and claps a friendly hand on Damianos’s shoulder as he rises from his bow. “I’m excited to put a face to our conversations, you were even younger than Laurent here when I last saw you.”

Conversations? Since when were Auguste and Damianos corresponding? Laurent’s brow furrows in confusion but he has to smooth out his countenance quickly as Auguste and Damianos’ attention turns to him.

“This is my younger brother, Prince Laurent. I believe you met briefly at Marlas?” Auguste introduces them and turns his attention to Kastor, the next person in the receiving line.

“Your Highness.” Damen bows to Laurent as well. It made sense for him to bow to Auguste, a foreign king who he is apparently on friendly terms with. But Laurent’s status doesn’t outweigh Akielon tradition. Or it shouldn’t. Nonetheless, Laurent receives the same show of respect that Auguste had. “I’m glad to meet on better terms this time.”

Laurent nods his head in greeting. Even if he wanted to bow in return, his circlet is rather precariously attached. “Prince Damianos.” They both look at each other for a beat where Laurent knows he should reply but finds his mouth dry. “I would be hard-pressed to think of a worse meeting than on a battlefield. I hope we can avoid warfare this time around.”

Damianos’s mouth quirks and Laurent catches a glimpse of his dimple. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Laurent allows a small smile in return as Damianos is ushered onward.

***

Once every member of the Akielon contingent has been appropriately welcomed and sent on their way, Laurent tells Auguste that he’ll see him at dinner that evening and makes to depart. Before he leaves, he checks an alcove near the east entrance and is unsurprised to find that Nicaise has abandoned his tutor to spy on the Akielon visitors.

Laurent considers sending him back to his lessons but quickly dismisses this idea. He’d be finishing soon for lunch anyway and Laurent has a question he wants to ask him. Instead he asks a servant to send two meals up to his room and invites Nicaise to join him. Nicaise, who doesn’t like to admit that he actually enjoys spending time with Laurent, just begins walking in the direction of Laurent’s quarters and chatters about his opinions on Arles’ newest visitors.

“I know Makedon vouched for Nikandros, but would it really hurt him to stop glowering for two seconds? You’d think he’d hate Veretians less considering he’s in charge of an entire province of them.”

Laurent personally thinks that Nikandros is more worried about Jokaste and Kastor’s presence than offended by the existence of Veretians in the Veretian palace, but he hums in response and encourages Nicaise to continue his appraisal of their guests.

“Kastor looks like an asshole.” Laurent can’t disagree with that assessment. “But Damianos was handsome at least. I hope he works less on his statecraft than his biceps, for Vere’s sake.”

Laurent still remembers when Nicaise had stabbed Damen in the thigh and finds this offhanded compliment amusing.

“I agree, he was quite handsome, wasn’t he?” Laurent smiles as he says this, knowing the reaction it will garner. Laurent hasn’t shown interest in anyone since his lacklustre courtship with Lord Beauvau, much to Nicaise’s dismay.

Nicaise almost stops in his tracks, tripping slightly over his feet once he realizes what Laurent has said. “Are your standards really _that_ high?”

Laurent laughs.

The rest of their walk to Laurent’s rooms is mostly Nicaise pestering Laurent, hoping for another admittance that Laurent actually finds someone attractive. Laurent supposes he’s brought this upon himself.

Once in Laurent’s drawing-room, Laurent and Nicaise both grab their meals and sit to eat. Laurent toys with a roll as he thinks over what he wants to say.

“Nicaise?” Laurent’s tone is much more serious than their usual lighthearted conversations and Nicaise looks up.

“Yes?”

“I haven’t told anyone this yet, but I have a plan for the Akielons’ visit. I’ve been working on reforming the pet system here, but I’ve set my sights further. I want to at least convince them to reconsider slavery, if not abolish it.”

Nicaise looks at Laurent like he’s suddenly begun to speak Kemptian. “Why?”

“Well, if they’re not going to do it, someone has to.” Laurent shrugs one shoulder.

“And you plan to do this in a month? Just convince the Akielon gentry to give up an established tradition that they benefit from?”

“It won’t take a month, you’re right. But I have to start somewhere.” Laurent then smiles, conspiratorially. “Besides, I can’t court someone who employs slaves, now can I? I have to start working on that now.” Laurent knows this will catch Nicaise’s attention. Even with Lord Beauvau, Laurent had simply let him approach. Laurent had never expressed interest in courting as an active participant.

Nicaise, appropriately, drops his pastry.

Laurent’s smile softens and he adopts the serious tone he had begun with. “I’m not just telling you for fun, I have a request to make of you.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“I’d like to tell them your story, of before you came to the palace.”

Nicaise looks downward. He’s never liked to speak about how he ended up in the house where Laurent found him.

“It’s completely up to you, I won’t be upset if you say no, and I can keep it anonymous if you’d like. I think that admitting that Vere isn’t perfect will make them more willing to admit their own faults.”

“I—” Nicaise starts and then stops, collecting his thoughts. “Fine. But I don’t want to be involved.”

Laurent nods. “Thank you Nicaise.” He passes Nicaise a fruit tart, his favourite.

“I’m only doing it so you can get with the prince.” Nicaise grabs the tart, feigning flippancy.

“How altruistic, I’m honoured you care so much about me.”

“That’s not what I meant! Laurent! I’m being selfish!” Nicaise whines.

Laurent laughs. “You have a very kind heart, Nicaise.” He says it provokingly, but he means it.

***

Due to the presence of high-ranking guests, Laurent’s usual seating arrangement at dinner is disrupted. Lady Vannes still sits at the same table, just a ways down, and Nicaise is at a different table entirely.

Laurent, as the Veretian noble with the second-highest rank, expects to be sitting across from the Akielon with the second-highest rank. But, as he sits down for dinner that evening, Laurent notices that it’s not Kastor that he’s facing, but Damianos. Someone must have switched their places as Damianos is now sitting between Nikandros and Kastor. Perhaps Damianos had made the change himself to be closer to his friend.

Laurent was one of the last to arrive and as he sits, Damianos turns from where he’d been talking with Nikandros and smiles at Laurent. Something in Laurent’s chest feels warmer at the sight.

“Prince Laurent.” Damianos greets him warmly. “I hope you had a wonderful afternoon since we last spoke.”

“Thank you, my afternoon was fine. I hope you and your party are finding the palace to your liking?” Laurent hadn’t ever truly appreciated that they’d never had a point in their relationship where they’d had to make benign small talk. Next, they’d be talking about the weather.

“Nikandros has already gotten lost, but it really is beautiful.” Nikandros almost looks betrayed, whether by the admission of his wayfinding skills, or the assessment of Arles’ beauty, Laurent is unsure.

“I’ll have to commission you a map, Kyros.” Nikandros doesn’t seem sure if Laurent is joking or not until Damianos chuckles and Laurent breaks his serious expression to laugh along.

Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of the last member of the head table and Lady Jokaste is announced by the herald. “Introducing Lady Jokaste of Aegina,” her title is the same as it was when she arrived earlier to be greeted, but curiously, the herald continues, “betrothed of Prince Kastor.”

As she sweeps into her seat, her airy peplos floating around her, Laurent considers this information. Maybe without the reputation as a prince-killer, Damianos hadn’t been worth it to the ambitious Jokaste. Perhaps with the absence of Laurent’s uncle to manipulate Kastor, his vulnerability was more tempting than a relationship with Damianos. Laurent isn’t given much time to puzzle this over as dinner begins to be served shortly after she sits down.

Once everyone has a bowl of soup in front of them, Laurent turns to where Auguste is seated beside him. “I didn’t know you were friendly with Prince Damianos.”

Auguste shrugs one shoulder casually. “It began very boring and bureaucratic. He sent a letter after the war expressing his condolences for our father’s death. I got ten other letters almost the exact same that week.”

Laurent’s brow creases and Auguste continues.

“After that, it was just the occasional letter, typical fare between two political leaders. It wasn’t until last year when I mentioned that I had a growing interest in those Akielon epics you showed me that it became more friendly than political. He responded anecdotally, and we’ve been writing more regularly since.”

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“I suppose it didn’t occur to me to tell you. I don’t tell you about every letter I send, and these weren’t particularly important, I didn’t really think you’d care, honestly.”

Laurent frowns softly down at his soup. It’s frustrating, there’s nothing to be mad at Auguste about, he’s right that Laurent wouldn’t care if it were anyone else. Laurent looks up at a polite throat clear from across the table.

“If you’ll excuse my interruption, King Auguste isn’t understating our correspondence’s gravity. If I had spilled any state secrets, I’m sure you’d be the first person he’d tell. He speaks of you very highly, Your Highness.” Damianos smiles at Auguste. “I suppose we just have similar interests.”

Laurent looks unimpressed. “You began a friendship with an enemy prince because you like the same poetry?”

Damianos laughs. “And sports, yes. Are you interested in epic poetry as well, Prince Laurent?”

“I prefer philosophy, actually.” Laurent had never particularly enjoyed the classic tales of violent heroes and clashing battles. His tastes tend to be more folkloric but mentioning that seems rather trite and not something Laurent would typically share with a foreign noble.

Auguste, who apparently sees Damianos as more of a friend than a foreign noble, and also apparently loves to embarrass Laurent, wraps an arm around Laurent’s shoulder. “Don’t let him be prickly, he really prefers folktales.”

Laurent shrugs off his brother’s arm and shoots him a sharp look.

Damianos smiles at their fraternal exchange and says, “I like them as well, though I’ll admit I know Akielon and Artesian myths better than Veretian fables. Do you have any recommendations?”

Laurent pointedly ignores Auguste and takes the opportunity presented. “I have several I’d love to show you, Prince Damianos, if you’d like to accompany me to the library tomorrow?”

“I’d enjoy that.”

***

As Laurent enters the library the next morning, he finds that the servants must have already brought Damianos. The Akielon prince is sitting near a window, staring absently out at the gardens. Laurent’s steps catch his attention and he stands when he sees he’s no longer alone.

“Your Highness, I—”

Laurent stops him. “You can call me by my name.”

“Laurent,” Damianos says his name like it’s gold on his tongue. Laurent, embarrassingly, can feel his ears begin to redden. “I was going to thank you for your invitation today. You should call me Damen, it’s my small name.” Laurent remembers how Damen had described the Akielon idea of small names to him: _reserved for intimates._

“I—” Laurent wets his lips. “Thank you, Damen.” He hadn’t expected a name to be difficult for him, but he realizes that he’d been able to keep his Damen separate from this alternate one through their names. This blurred lines that Laurent hadn’t realized he’d drawn.

Laurent swallows thickly and looks up to see Damen beaming. Damen’s attention is like the sun: warm and bright and burning. Laurent blinks and turns, walking swiftly towards the shelves.

Once he’s found the shelf he was looking for, Laurent trails his finger over the spine of a book slowly, considering it before he slides in from its spot on the palace library’s shelf. The spine cracks audibly as he opens it and leafs through the pages until he finds the story he’s looking for. He taps the page confirmedly and tilts it so Damen can see it.

Damen’s presence is warm and all-encompassing, Laurent can feel him at his side even when he looks away.

“This is the story of Mélusine, her father was the King of Kempt and her mother was fae. She killed her father and was cursed by her mother to turn into a serpent from the waist down.” Laurent closes the book and hands it to Damen. “There’s plenty of action, but I’ll warn you, it isn’t particularly complimentary of Akielon slavery practices.” Laurent knows that Damen had liked it when he’d read it years ago but he’s curious if this Damen will like it with all its social commentary.

Damen takes the book with an almost reverence, his large hands gentle and considerate. “That’s alright, I’m not very complimentary of slavery either.”

Laurent is glad he’d already handed over the book because he thinks he might have dropped it. Where’s the man that had argued so ardently in favour of slavery in this very palace?

Damen interrupts his thoughts before they can run any further. “I was actually hoping to ask you about that. I’ve heard about the reforms you’ve been working on within the Veretian pet system and I’d be very interested to hear your thoughts on abolishment in Akielos.”

Laurent blinks in response. Is Damen really just spilling his political aims to a foreign prince? At least he had enough reason to think Laurent would probably agree with him. But it really is a wonder he made it this far without another coup, Laurent’s uncle or no.

“I’d be happy to,” Laurent affirms. Damen’s lucky, he’s unknowingly asked probably the most well-versed person in Akielon slavery abolishment he could have found in either of their countries.

 **“** Thank you, Laurent. I know we both have prior engagements today, but could we discuss it tomorrow? I could arrange a horse ride.”

“I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow as well, but I can arrange a ride for three days from today.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Damen grins and lifts the book in his hand as he speaks. “I’m meant to meet Nikandros across the palace in five minutes, so I need to leave, but I look forward to seeing you again, Laurent.”

Laurent nods. “As do I.”

Laurent watches as Damen leaves and when Damen turns back to look at Laurent, Laurent catches his gaze and holds it. Damen just laughs and turns back, book in hand.

This is all happening so much faster than Laurent had anticipated. But it’s happening.

It’s happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damen's here!! 
> 
> I went back and read the part in book one where damen defends slavery while I was writing this and OH BOY is book one laurent Very Different from how I've been writing him in this fic, like, part of his response to damen in that scene is "Whereas pure Akielos is free of treachery? The heir dies on the same night as the King, and it is merely coincidence that smiles on Kastor?" said Laurent silkily. "You should kiss the floor when you beg for my favour." GOD DAMN!!! i love him <3 I'm basing my laurent characterization on the adventures of charls the cloth merchant and summer palace laurent so I almost forgot how fucking ruthless he can be 
> 
> Is anyone else planning on reading the fence novel? It's not by pacat but it sounds like she was pretty involved in it (and i love sarah rees brennan's writing) My pre-order arrived yesterday and I finished it last night, it wasn’t, like, a literary masterpiece, but it was really fun! I laughed out loud several times.


	8. Chapter 7: Ressouvenir

The morning air is crisp against Laurent’s pinkened cheeks as he makes his way to the palace stables. As he enters, he dismisses the stable hand and grabs the tack box himself. He’s arrived before the time Damianos and he had agreed upon so he can prepare his horse himself. While the palace employs perfectly capable stable hands, Laurent has always enjoyed the methodic preparation, as well as the opportunity to spend time with his horse.

She wickers softly as he begins brushing her and Laurent pats her flank affectionately.

Laurent’s almost finished with his brushing when he realizes he’s not alone in the stables like he’d thought. He looks out of the stall and sees Damen; he’s watching Laurent and smiling softly.

“Damen. I’m sorry, am I late? I’d thought I’d given myself enough time.”

Damen shakes his head. “Not at all, on the contrary, I’m early. No need to stop on my account.”

Laurent swaps his brush for a hoof pick and urges his horse’s hoof up. As he works, he speaks up. “So, how are you finding the Veretian court? Is it what you expected?”

“Not at all, much less debaucherous.”

“Don’t let the courtiers hear you, they’d be terribly offended. Many of them were hoping you’d all be scandalized.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll try my hardest to blush the next time Lord Chéreau propositions me.”

“I appreciate your efforts towards diplomacy,” Laurent says faux-seriously as he switches to another hoof.

As Laurent works, finishing picking and moving on to preparing his tack, he and Damen talk. First, they discuss the court, but soon it turns into Damen recounting a story from his trip from Ios to Arles about a travelling bard and the chaos that her ridiculous teasing had caused within the Akielons.

Soon both their horses are ready, and they begin to lead them out of the stable. They’re stopped before they can leave by Nicaise who darts into their path.

Laurent, used to Nicaise popping up unexpectedly, simply pauses and waits for Nicaise to explain what he’s here for. Damen, on the other hand, looks between Nicaise and Laurent with his eyes wide.

“Laurent. I heard you and Prince Damianos were going on a ride, and after you—” Nicaise clutches his hand to his chest dramatically, “—took him on a tour of the library. Do I need to find you a chaperone?”

Laurent snorts. “I don’t know where you got the idea that Damen’s a woman, I appreciate your concern for my virtue nonetheless.”

“It’s all the dresses.”

“Chitons are unisex, I can always find one for you to wear. Expand your cultural horizons.” Laurent raises an eyebrow challengingly at Nicaise.

Damen clears his throat. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Yes. Damen, this is my ward, Nicaise. Nicaise, this is Prince Damianos.” Laurent gestures lazily with his hand.

Damen offers Nicaise his hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nicaise.”

Damen beams as Nicaise shakes his hand and mutters a greeting.

“Is there anything you needed Nicaise?” Laurent asks.

“No, I was just going to see you off and then tell Vannes you’re cavorting with Akielons.”

“That sounds like a fine plan, we’ll see you at lunch.” Laurent begins to urge his horse towards the paddock where they’ll mount and leave for their ride.

Nicaise nods and leaves without a goodbye.

Damen follows Laurent out to the paddock. “He seems like a fine young man.”

Laurent smiles probably more sincerely than he means to. “He’s precocious and brash and too clever for his own good.”

“Like I said, a fine young man.”

Laurent laughs as he swings up onto his saddle.

***

Their ride is enjoyable, more so than Laurent had anticipated. He typically prefers to horse ride alone, but he should have known that he’d enjoy anything better with Damen in his company. Even this strange alternate Damen.

They talk politics and policy and Damen seems most interested in Laurent’s recent initiatives. Laurent never thought he could be wooed through bureaucracy but he’s passionate about a lot of the work he’s done, and Damen’s attentive interest is heady.

Eventually, they turn back towards the palace and Damen asks less about policy and more about Laurent’s life. He asks about Vannes and about Laurent’s friends from the city and then about Laurent’s guard. He seems most interested in Nicaise though, curious about how he came to the palace, what his day-to-day life is like, what he’s like. If he weren’t so sincere, and if Laurent didn’t know how terrible he was at subterfuge, Laurent would suspect Damen of gathering intel. It seems though, that he’s just interested.

Laurent is so caught up in Damen’s attention that he almost doesn’t notice the oddities on the trail as the near the palace. Damen, with his attention so focused on Laurent and his unfamiliarity with these trails, certainly wouldn’t have noticed.

It’s a tangle of colourful threads caught up in a bush that Laurent finally notices. He stops what he was saying abruptly and signals for Damen to stay quiet as he carefully dismounts and looks closer at the edge of the trail. There are clearly broken branches and trampled underbrush leading off the trail, towards the palace. The threads appear to have been torn from someone’s clothing by the branches.

Laurent can’t see anyone deeper into the trees, but his curiosity has been peaked and it only takes a little deliberation before he begins to tie his horse’s reigns and loosen his constrictive jacket, determined to follow the path. Laurent breathes deeply as the boning in his jacket no longer compresses his torso, it probably wasn’t wise to wear such a structured jacket while riding, but Laurent looks fantastic in it and, given his riding partner, that was a burden he was willing to bear. He shucks it completely, draping it over his saddle, and turns to look at Damen.

Damen is still astride his horse, which is fair considering Laurent hasn’t actually indicated what he noticed, nor what he plans to do. Damen’s looking at him, but his eyes are distant, and Laurent has to wave his hands to catch Damen’s attention. Holding his finger to his lips, Laurent gestures for Damen to join him at the trailside. Damen raises his eyebrows but complies, tying his horse near Laurent’s and joining him.

“A group came through here, headed towards the palace. These trails should be closed.” Laurent whispers and points to the thread he saw and the trail of disturbed underbrush.

“Alright.” Damen whispers and nods in response.

“I’m going to follow them.”

Damen looks more resigned than surprised and checks that his sword is at his hip. Wonderful, he’s learning. Laurent grins.

Checking his own sword belt and then rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt, Laurent steps into the trees. The path of disturbed underbrush is easy enough to follow, even for two princes, and they only have to follow it for a few minutes before Laurent hears speaking up ahead and stops suddenly. Damen doesn’t quite crash into him, but he stops a hair’s breadth from Laurent’s back, his breath loud in Laurent’s ears.

The pair stands there, breathing softly as they both strain to listen to the conversation being had by the group ahead.

It doesn’t take long for Laurent to figure out who they are, they’re disparaging Auguste in an upper-class dialect of Vaskian. He beckons Damen to bring his head closer and breaths into his ear. “They’re Vaskian nationalists. They were colluding with Guion, and old council member, years ago, but with Archduchess Janna choosing to step out of the line of succession to marry Auguste, the group has been gaining support lately.”

Damen pulls away and looks at Laurent as he realizes that he’s followed Laurent into a much more precarious situation than anticipated. Laurent smiles in response and begins to walk softly towards the group, his hand on his sword hilt. Damen follows, resigned.

They only walk a few more paces before the group becomes visible. Laurent can see five people, a mix of men and women, their clothing all decorated with distinctive Vaskian embroidery. Laurent is pondering how to subdue five adults when he overhears the man with the braid begin to go over the plan they’ve ostensibly come to Arles to carry out. The man starts softer, but his voice raises with conviction as he goes over how they plan to assassinate King Auguste. Laurent’s hand tightens over the hilt of his sword. At least they’ve solved his problem of not having enough rope to bind them all.

Laurent glances over to see Damen has understood the man as well and is looking back at Laurent waiting to see what Laurent wants to do. Laurent glances back and forth between Damen and the five Vaskians.

He’s killed for his brother and he’ll do it again.

“Keep the one with the braid alive.” Laurent’s lips brush against Damen’s ear.

He waits for a beat for Damen’s response and at his affirmative nod, Laurent quietly unsheathes his sword and steps softly towards the group. Damen creeps to the right to take a different angle than Laurent.

Laurent breathes in once and out once.

He locks eyes with Damianos.

“Now!”

Branches scrape at his shins as he charges in, sword gleaming in the dappled forest sunlight. His first opponent is taken off guard and doesn’t have the time to prepare her weapon, let alone use it, before his blade punctures her neck.

Laurent doesn’t even have time to breathe before another Vaskian is upon him, shortsword swinging. Laurent raises his own longsword to parry and grits his teeth at the force. He trades blows with his opponent; the Vaskian needs to get closer than Laurent with the length of her sword and Laurent dances backward, the tip of his sword catching her cheek before his back is against a tree and she crowds him, her shorter blade now an advantage.

As she reaches her arm back, Laurent raises his arm as if to parry and, as her sword comes down, he twists to the side, her blade whistling past his head and into the bark of the tree behind him.

Laurent uses the momentum of his feint and continues twisting until he’s behind his opponent. His arm continues its arc and he buries his blade in her side.

Panting, Laurent pulls his sword back and turns to help Damen. Laurent lets his fighting form drop when he sees that Damen has already felled two of the Vaskians and is engaged with the man with the braid. Laurent considers helping and moves closer just in case, but Damen is clearly the superior swordsman and only has yet to win because Laurent wants this man alive. Laurent’s interference will likely cause more problems than it will fix, and Laurent lets the bloody tip of his sword dip towards the forest floor as he watches Damen fight.

It takes a moment, but when he notices, Laurent’s brows furrow. Damen’s sword fighting is much closer to how he fought when they were both kings than when he was on the campaign trail with Laurent all those years ago. He uses Veretian flicks of his wrist that confuse the Vaskian mountain style, his blade moving with the neat efficiency of Veretian sword fighting and landing with the strength of the Akielon style.

As Laurent is contemplating this realization, Damen slides his blade up to his opponent’s hilt and, with a complicated maneuver that combines Akielon strength and Veretian ingenuity, he quickly disarms the Vaskian.

Laurent gapes. He’d taught Damen how to do that.

Could—

Could Damen remember?

Laurent blinks through the trees at Damen. The last few days rearrange themselves in his mind: Damen’s reaction to seeing Nicaise, his friendship with Auguste, his opinion of slavery, Jokaste’s relationship with Kastor. Laurent blinks again.

Oh—Damen is calling him over.

Damen has the Vaskian’s arms crossed behind his back. “Do you have any kind of rope? A belt? We need to tie him up.”

Laurent blinks again. Right, they’ve just foiled an assassination plot.

“I—” Laurent clears his throat. “No rope, my sword belt should work though. I’ll carry my sword if you take him.” Laurent drops his sword in the grass as he says this, he doesn’t want to sheathe it before he can wipe off more of the blood. Damen nods and Laurent steps closer to bind the man’s wrists while Damen restrains him.

As they gather their swords and begin the trek back to where the horses are waiting, Damen smiles over at Laurent. “At least the ride wasn’t boring.”

Laurent huffs a laugh but can’t find it in himself to respond. His mind is too full. He feels like an overflowing glass of water, unable to restrain his thoughts.

The trip back to the palace is mostly silent.

***

“I would like to make a toast to Prince Damianos and my brother Prince Laurent.” Auguste’s voice booms through the dining hall as he raises his glass. “Due to their combined quick thinking and fighting prowess, they foiled a plot against the crown today.” The court roars with approval as Auguste tips his drink back. “Vere thanks you for your bravery.”

Laurent, who has been internally debating the logistics of time travel for most of the afternoon, simply nods in acknowledgement of Auguste’s proclamation. Damen, still oddly seated across from Laurent, grins and tilts his glass towards Laurent before drinking as well.

Through the rest of the dinner, the mood is jovial and many courtiers approach Laurent and Damen with their commendations and thanks. Laurent accepts them all generously but rarely speaks unless directly addressed. It’s odd for the subject of all of Laurent’s tumultuous thoughts to be sitting across from him when Laurent feels like he’s legions away.

As soon as is acceptable, Laurent excuses himself from the head table. As he’s leaving, Nicaise appears at his side.

As they walk through the palace, Nicaise conducts most of their conversation. Laurent only has to affirmatively hum or agree with Nicaise. Laurent lets his mind wander as they speak, now that the possibility of Damen remembering has been introduced, not knowing is gnawing at Laurent. He’s gone almost a decade with the knowledge that he gave up his husband for his brother. The idea that he could have both is all-consuming. He can’t stand not being sure. But the idea of Damen staring at him unknowingly haunts Laurent. This strange, flickering hope being crushed is almost worse than the disquiet of not knowing. 

When they arrive at the entrance to Laurent’s quarters, Laurent stops and turns to Nicaise.

“Could you take a message for me?” Laurent asks, trying to convince himself of what he’s about to do.

“I’m not your page.” Nicaise pouts.

“I figured you’d be interested in my correspondence with Prince Damianos, but if you’d rather I find someone else...” Laurent trails off.

“I suppose I can stoop to it, tell me.” The speed of his reply betrays Nicaise’s interest and Laurent has to restrain himself from chuckling.

“Could you ask the prince to meet me in my chambers this evening? Whenever he’s available is fine.”

Nicaise’s eyes go wide. “You’ve only known him a week! Is thwarting an assassination attempt really all it takes to get you in bed?”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “I’m not discussing that with you. Besides, I noticed something odd when we were fighting and I want to ask him about it, it’s been bothering me is all.” Nicaise raises an eyebrow. “And that’s all I plan on doing with him, now go.”

Nicaise still looks unconvinced but does as he’s asked.

Laurent watches him go and then turns to enter his rooms. Once inside, he finds himself unsure of what to do. He’s not lacking for tasks that need to be done, but he doesn’t think he could sit long enough to read a single sentence right now. He paces his drawing-room, boots clicking against the floor. Laurent just barely keeps himself from wringing his hands, he has nothing to do now but wait. Unfortunately, waiting feels like agony, uncertainty and anticipation building in his chest.

It’s probably not actually much longer, but it feels like an eon later when Laurent hears a knock at the door, and he scrambles to answer. Smoothing his hands over his hair and seating himself leisurely on a chaise lounge before he calls for the guest to enter, Laurent’s heartbeat flutters.

The door opens and Damen steps inside.

“Thank you for coming, I know we just saw one another.” Laurent gestures for Damen to join him sitting down.

The golden light of the sunset streams through Laurent’s windows and illuminates Damen as he sits across from Laurent. He’s not wearing his golden crown of laurels, but he might as well be.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Damen sounds so heartfelt, even when just exchanging pleasantries. “I actually was hoping to apologize to you.”

What? Laurent blinks at Damen, uncomprehending. What does he have to apologize for? Before Laurent can ask, Damen continues.

“I’m not sure what I did, but I thought we were having a lovely morning and I think I must have done something to offend when we fought the Vaskians, you’ve barely spoken to me since.” Damen’s sincerity is almost abrasive in its candour.

“You did nothing wrong, you just reminded me of someone I knew. He fought as you do.” Laurent assures Damen. “I actually have a question for you.”

Damen nods for him to ask it and Laurent takes in a deep breath.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Laurent asks as he sits forward.

“Yes, you stepped between me and your brother and surrendered Delfeur.”

Laurent sighs shakily. “No—” He wets his lips. “Damen, do you remember the first time we met?” He stares into Damen’s warm eyes pleadingly.

As Laurent watches Damen’s face, it blooms into joy, competing with the evening sun in its brilliance and Laurent’s stomach swoops.

“I hope you speak my language better this time, sweetheart.”

Laurent doesn’t realize he’s stood up before he has his arms around Damen and they’re kissing, their lips crash together inelegantly, and it feels like coming home.

They break apart, panting, and Laurent stares up at Damen, both their eyes wet. Laurent has Damen’s face cradled in his hands and he can feel Damen’s cheeks as he smiles. Damen’s hands feel solid and warm around Laurent’s waist.

“I missed you so much.” Laurent kisses Damen quickly, unable to keep himself from it. “I thought about you every day, I thought you’d forgotten like everyone else.” Laurent’s voice is thick with emotion.

“Laurent.” Damen leans in and breaths his name against his lips. “I woke up the day after Marlas with the memory of you surrendering Delfeur. I thought I’d dreamt those ten years.” Damen punctuates his sentence with a deep kiss.

Laurent’s mind reels. They’d come so close.

“I woke up the morning before the battle. I didn’t save both of you the first time.” Laurent’s jaw clenches as he thinks of watching Auguste kill Damen.

“The first time?”

“It took four days. Four battles of Marlas. But you didn’t remember.” Laurent’s voice breaks. “You didn’t remember.”

Damen reaches up and smooths Laurent’s hair back from his face. “I do though. And so do you.” Damen chuckles almost disbelievingly. “And Auguste! You got to grow up with your brother.” Damen’s grin is blinding.

Laurent brushes his thumb over Damen’s dimple. “I did. I never let myself hope I could have both of you though.”

“You do now. You have me, Laurent.” Damen breaths.

“I do, don’t I?” Laurent teases as he slides his fingers back to tangle in Damen’s curls and leans in. “I love you,” Laurent says it softly, reverently.

“I love you, too.” Damen leans in the rest of the way and connects their mouths.

***

“I can’t believe how short these things are.” Nicaise’s tone is acerbic.

“You can always change back into your Veretian clothing, chitons are optional.” Laurent doesn’t even bother to look over to where Nicaise has dramatically folded himself over the side of the ship.

“And risk melting? It’s autumn, why is Ios so hot?”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “Because they knew you were coming and pulled the sun closer just to torment you.”

“Damen’s evil, he _would_ do that. I can’t believe you’re betrothed to him.” Nicaise laments.

Laurent laughs at the absurdity of this claim. “Damen would move the ocean for you, Nicaise.”

Nicaise pouts, he doesn’t have a retort because Laurent’s right. The day after Damen and Laurent had realized they both remembered their first lives, they’d announced to the Veretian court and the Akielon delegation their intentions to court each other. Damen and Laurent had spent the rest of the month leading up to Auguste’s wedding giddily and furiously trying to catch up on almost a decade missed. This had involved Damen trying to ingratiate himself to Nicaise who’d become oddly defensive of Laurent. It took until Damen extended his stay in Vere for a month after the wedding as well for Nicaise to reluctantly warm up to him. Not that Nicaise would ever admit it.

Damen’s proposal after only two months of courtship had scandalized the court; Nicaise had only settled down when Laurent explained that Nicaise was welcome to accompany him wherever he ended up living. Nonetheless, Nicaise stoked a healthy grudge against Damen for taking Laurent away from Arles. Laurent was sure that by now the grudge was more habit than conviction; there’d been no cutlery related violence, at least. He’d seemed almost excited to join Laurent’s trip to Ios to spend time at the Akielon palace for a month before Damen and Laurent’s wedding planned for the next spring in Delfeur.

Laurent looks out as a deckhand announces that their ship has docked, and another sends down a gangplank. He grins when he spots Damen on the docks, he isn’t subtle in his bright chiton and cape, standing still on the dock like a rock in a riverbed. Nicaise gets up from his slouch and follows Laurent’s gaze. Once he recognizes who it is, he smiles and waves before catching himself, adopting an apathetic expression. This still catches Damen’s attention and he waves back enthusiastically.

Laurent smiles helplessly.

“Come on, Nicaise, I have kingdoms to conquer.” Laurent turns to disembark.

“It’s not conquering if you’re marrying the crown prince!” Nicaise snaps, following behind Laurent.

Laurent waves his hand dismissively and steps down onto the dock.

Steps towards Damen, towards their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!!! The end!!! I can't believe I didn't stop writing 3k into it!! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left comments, it's been lovely to hear your thoughts! And thanks to everyone who left kudos!! I super appreciate your support <3
> 
> Was the damen thing obvious or a surprise for you? I was never sure what the line between too obvious and not obvious enough was. My goal was for the reader to have an idea but for it to take longer for Laurent to catch on. Either way, I hope you liked it!
> 
> By the way, I'm the-ronan-cycle over on tumblr! I looove talking about CaPri and I have my messages open if you ever want to chat <3 
> 
> I think that's everything, thanks for reading!!


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